Batman: Laughing Chaos
by Chip Curtis
Summary: A war has torn Gotham asunder after a war between its Dark Knight protector and some of his most vile enemies. Bonds have been broken, allies have turned to enemies and friends have been lost forever. Follow the aftermath and the events leading up to it in two parallel stories featuring Batman and his allies at their toughest trial yet. Set in its own universe. Enjoy. Please review
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The Madness in Your Eyes

May 22nd, 2020

Despite the rain that beat down on the cracked sidewalk pavement and the trash laden streets, the fires never seemed to die down. No, instead they roared long hours into the night, casting orange light down around it as it burned Wayne Tower to ash. He stood there, watching from atop a building across the wide street. Even from the distance, he could feel the heat dance across the bare skin on his jaw. He clenched his teeth and balled his gloved hands into fists of rage.

 _How could I let this happen?_ He wondered. _How could I fail Gotham like this?_

"How do ya do it?" the voice was shrill and pained, weak compared to the blaring sirens that blasted through Gotham at the moment. "I get all the pain and tragedy stuff. Hell, I caused half of it myself. My… how do you brood so well. Don't you ever get tired of just standing there like that. You hardly move at all. And the cape. Doesn't that thing just get in the way? I tried wearing one once. Figured it would work wonders for me. But then I tripped over it and fell down the stairs. But you just jump off buildings with that thing, and it doesn't seem to bother you at all."

"Shut up," he said through gritted teeth.

"Aw. But I'm curious. And I've always wanted to ask. Now seems like the right time, considering you're about to kill me."

"I don't kill."

"Wait," the Joker bolted to his feet, his lanky arms flailing on the way up as his blood red lips curved into the malicious glare that haunted thousands of Gotham's denizens. "You're not going to kill me?" he cackled, barring his stained yellow teeth like a hyena. "After all this, after all I've put you through, you're not going to kill me? I brought Gotham to its knees. I made your little Bat-family bleed their bat blood all of the bat carpets of your bat home. Don't you wanna get your revenge? Don't you want to end all of this?"

"I don't kill," Batman repeated, spinning around, yanking the cold metal handcuffs from his utility belt.

"Maybe you're right," the Joker's green hair was matted down with a mixture of rainwater and blood. His jackal-like features glowed in the light of the flames, and his eyes flickered with the same cold insanity that had always been there. He flatted out his purple suit, which had now been torn in several places, and straightened out the wilted flower on his lapel. "Maybe you don't kill. Maybe you're just self-righteous enough to think that you're above all that. That… that you won't get your hands dirty. But… c'mon, Batsy. We've been at this for years now. You know how I am. You beat me up, bruise me in places I didn't know bruised and then throw me in the same old cell at Arkham. Maybe you have Cash throw in a few extra guards or something. Maybe you tell them to feed the key to Croc. But it doesn't matter. I get out. I pull off a few more heists, put myself back on top of the criminal underworld in this cesspool they call a city. And I kill. I kill and I kill and I kill. But you could end this right now. One life for who knows how many. Break your one rule. Kill. You know you want to. I've brought your end to you. I brought war to the heart of Gotham. And I'll do it all again. And again and again and again until there's no one left to leave slaughtered. No more little boys to be left alone in the streets, watching as their mommies and daddies bleed out, knowing that from now on, their life will be forever different. Kill me, and you save Gotham."

He took a few step forwards. He knew it would come to this. He had always known. There was no other way. There was no rehabilitating a mad man like him. He craved chaos and destruction. There was nothing to alleviate that hunger. There was nothing he could do but end it for good. He held his hand out, unclasping it, his fingers stretching out, grabbing towards his neck.

"Do it," Joker laughed, his eyes devoid of fear even as he faced near-certain death. "Just know, that no matter what, I won. No matter what you do to me, I've proven that you are nothing more than a broken man. That you are no better than me. You kill me, I force you to break your one and only rule. You let me live, and you weren't strong enough to save Gotham. This was how it was always meant to be, Batman. You could never win."

"You're wrong," his fingers were just mere inches from the Joker's throat. All he had to do was grab it, force the life right out.

"Oh really?" Joker took a step forward, placing his throat right on Batman's palm. Then, he forced the Dark Knight to clasp gauntlet guarded fingers around. "Because from where I'm standing, all I can see is your failure. This city used to want to build shrines in honor of your victories and triumphs. But now, all of Gotham is just a monument to your defeat."

 _Kill him_ a voice in the back of Batman's head rang clear. Perhaps it was the logical part. But it just as easily could have been an unstable part. It had been hard to tell ever since he put the cowl on twelve years prior.

"Do it," Joker chuckled again, the laughter screeching into the night. "You want to. I can see it in your eyes. It's right there. That's the madness in your eyes. It's just like mine, only you try to control it. You cage it. But you shouldn't bother, Batsy. It's not healthy. And I should know. I used to date a psychiatrist. Sure, it ended poorly, but-"

"Batman," the roof-access door burst open and Barbara burst through, a gun held in front of her now time-weary face. Her shortened hair blew lightly in the rain, and her brown coat had become soaked in the rain. "Don't move."

"Barbara," he felt his voice ease, anger replaced by the guilt that had stored up in the past two years. "Just… put the gun down."

"You don't give me orders anymore," she grimaced, her eyes narrowing and her fingers tightening around the trigger. "Now step away and let me put a bullet in this sicko's head. Right between his eyes."

"We don't kill."

" _You_ don't kill," Barbara gritted her teeth. "But he's ruined my life more times than I can count. It's about time we put an end to it. Once and for all."

"You'll never be able to come back from this, Barbara. Killing him will pull you down into the darkness."

"He already did that. It's too late to save me. But it's not too late to save Gotham."

"Wow," Joker heaved yet another laugh and clapped his gloved hands together. "This is getting quite entertaining. Would you mind letting go of my throat for just a second so that I can go get some popcorn?"

Batman ignored him. "Barbara. Just… put the gun down. The GCPD will be here in a minute. They'll take care of things."

"Just like they have before? Don't you get it? They catch him, he gets out and he kills again. The GCPD couldn't handle him before. And now… now after all that's happened… how are they supposed to do that?"

"See?" Joker grinned. "She gets it."

"Shut up!" Batman roared, tossing the Joker to the ground. "Just put down the gun. This isn't what your father would want."

"None of this is what he would have wanted," she pleaded. "Don't you get it? Gotham is burning down around you. Chaos is practically pouring into the streets. My father wouldn't have wanted any of it. But now… he sure as hell wouldn't want the Joker to live."

"If you kill him..." Batman wasn't even sure if he believed his own words. "If you kill him, then he just proves that the law doesn't work."

"Isn't that why you put on the costume in the first place? Because the way things were being done in the city weren't good enough?"

"Ooh," Joker stumbled to his feet again. "She has a point. I… I like her a lot more since I capped off her old man. She's so much more fun than when I shot her in the ribs."

"Be quiet," Barbara spun, her hands steady as she looked down the nose of her pistol at Joker. "I swear, I will put a bullet right between your eyes right now."

"Go ahead," Joker shrugged. "Honestly I'm just waiting to see what happens. This is the most fun I've hand in far too long."

"Don't do it," Batman spoke through gritted teeth. "This isn't you, Barbara."

"You don't know who I am," a tear rolled down her cheek and her hands shook just slightly. "Not anymore."

"Yes I do," gingerly, Batman took a step forward. "You're Batgirl. You're Oracle. You help people. You save people. You don't end lives. You could never kill. It's not in you. You're stronger than that."

"Then why do I feel so weak?" her voice wavered. "Why is it that as long as he draws breath, I feel like I failed? He needs to die, Bruce. This… this had gone on for too long. As long as he's alive, he'll kill. There's no saving him. No making any of it better. Ending him, right here and right now, it's the only answer. The only way to make things better."

"You don't believe that."

"Maybe I didn't used to," Barbara clenched her jaw and straightened her aim. "But then war came to Gotham. We're all a little different now. Sometimes war makes you blind. But this… this gave me clarity. The Joker needs to die, and I'll be the one to do it."

"Nobody move!" GCPD officers and SWAT members swarmed through the roof-access, tightly gripping their guns and holding riot shields out in front of them.

"Uh-oh," Joker tipped his head back in delight as a police officer dragged him away, roughly tightening handcuffs on him. "Looks like you took too long. But don't worry. We'll have another chance next time. Maybe I'll do something a little smaller then. I could kill another Robin. That's always fun."

The sounds seemed to be drowned out around him as he watched Joker be pulled away. Again. It was just like before. But he couldn't help but wonder if he would break out just like the other times. He couldn't help but wonder if this was all just a never ending cycle. One that would never be broken, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he wanted it to.

He turned away, placing one foot on the edge of the building as he prepared to leap. The fire department fought valiantly to kill the flames across the street, although it did very little. The blaze continued as his muscles tensed and he prepared to make the jump. He held his arms out, grasping each side of his cape tightly to prepare to glide. And then, despite everything else sounding so far away, he heard the gun cock right behind his head.

"You move, I shoot."

"Montoya…"

"That's Commissioner Montoya," Batman turned his head to see her. Her face was stern like a rock, her deep brown eyes burning with rage. "And I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Bruce Wayne."

"You know I had no part in that."

"You've had a part in all of this. Ever since you showed up, Gotham has been getting more and more dangerous. This was just the final tipping point."

"I can't let you take me in. There's still work to be done."

Montoya sighed, biting her lip in frustration. Clearly, she hadn't expected things to go any differently. "You think you can just make all of this go away? The days of the bat signal flooding into the skies is done. The day of you being anything more than a criminal vigilante are gone. If you really want to save the city, then you're going to come with me, Batman."

"I'm sorry, Renee."

"Don't think I'm afraid to pull the trigger, Batman."

"I don't," he sighed, tugging two capsules from his utility belt. "I just don't think you're fast enough for it to matter."

In an instant, they dropped, bursting into a plumb of smoke as Batman dove off the side of the building, pulling his cape to the sides, forming a makeshift glider. The hot air from the burning building whipped against his face as his stomach did somersaults inside of his gut. There was some small part of him that would never be able to get used to the feeling. The pull of gravity meshing awkwardly with the weightlessness of gliding. But he didn't have time to become distracted. He heard Montoya shoot a flurry of unintelligible curses from the rooftop as he dove for the streets. Red and blue lights streamed up the sides of buildings as the screeching rose to the tops of even the tallest skyscrapers. He was going to have to be careful.

"Pennyone," he shouted into his earpiece, his voice gruff, the smog of fire irritating his throat. "Bring the car around."

"The Batmobile is on its way now, sir," Alfred remained as calm and composed as ever, his voice never wavering. A small part of Batman wondered how he did it. "I have alerted the rest of the family to meet at the cave. I… well, many did not respond. We may be on our own now, sir."

"We'll manage," Batman tucked his arms close to his body and did a nose dive into the center of the street. The Batmobile, sleek and black, shimmering in the fire light, skidded between police cars, the canopy sliding open. He landed as gracefully as ever, instantly wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel and his feet pressing down hard on the gas. Police officers ran to the side, shouting at him to stop. He didn't.

"Even still, Master Bruce," Alfred said, "I still think that it would be the best course of action to talk to them all. They… they have all been through so much these last two years. And… I…"

"We don't need their help for this," Batman clenched his teeth in confidence, although he doubted the words that he said. He swerved the car between police barricade after police barricade. The near impregnable hull was belted with a flurry of bullets as he maneuvered his way through the chaos ridden streets of Gotham.

"Just because we don't _need_ their help, doesn't mean we shouldn't have it. They are your family, Master Bruce."

An armored police truck bolted out from an alley and slammed into the side of the Batmobile. Batman's head jerked to the side as he grunted, a curse slipping out under his breath. But his focus remained undeterred. His finger snapped to the computer command screen.

"Stealth mode activate," he barked as the Batcomputer clicked and whirred with the order. Light-refracting panels spun on the outside as the car became nearly invisible. Silently, Batman thanked Lucius for his meticulous designs. True, it would drain the power, but he wasn't far from the cave.

"Bruce," Alfred pleaded. "After everything that has happened, they should be a part of this. They have no one else. _You_ have no one else. You cannot simply be the Batman. You are still Bruce Wayne."

"No," Batman grumbled. "Bruce Wayne is dead."

The Batmobile zipped through the streets, unseen by any passerbys. The yellow moon hung precariously in the sky, the stars glittered in the infinite blackness of space and all of the sleepy city's denizens shuffled home, keeping their heads down out of fear of what lurked in the shadows. Somehow, despite everything, the city seemed so normal to him. And this feeling only continued to swell inside of him as he drove up the charred remains of the former Wayne Manor. The once prosperous fields were now filled with overgrown weeds. Vines crawled up the sides of the house. Crime scene tape sat wrapped around the entrance.

 _This city used to want to build shrines in honor of your victories and triumphs. But now, all of Gotham is just a monument to your defeat._

The Joker's words echoed in his mind. _He was right_ , Batman thought as the cave entrance behind the mansion open, rocks crumbling to the side. _I failed. I failed everyone. Dick, Barbara, Jason, Tim… Damian._

"Master Bruce," Alfred walked over the the car as it pulled in, coming to a stop on the platform that hung over the underground river that streamed under the cave. "I am afraid I was correct. The family… they have not responded yet."

Batman hopped out of the Batmobile. "Doesn't matter."

"But sir-"

"If they want to leave," Batman took his cowl off, cool air brushing against his face, "then let them. This started with just the two of us, and it went fine. I work better alone, anyway."

"Oh," Alfred sighed. "Joy. Another one of these bouts."

"What?"

"Nothing," Alfred stuttered. "But… I would like you to know that I believe you must reach out. I… I fear you will not make it without them. They are your legacy. And… while this war may be over, the aftershocks could be even more deadly."

"The Joker is going back to Arkham," Batman pulled off the heavy armor, flinching as it rubbed against one of his many old wounds. "Cobblepot, Nygma, Dent, they've all been taken care of. The only real threat comes from the Falcones, and that's only if they try to take control of the new power vacuum. But considering how weak they were when they left Gotham for Bludhaven…"

"I know you may think that you can do all of this on your own, Master Bruce," Alfred walked over to the Batcomputer. "But you are far from invincible. You need them. And they need you. You have taken them all under your wing and… oh, dear lord."

"What is it?" Bruce wrapped a bandage around his waist as blood gushed around yet another wound.

"It…" for the first time, Bruce saw his old friend as completely lost for words. "It's the Joker. Commissioner Montoya and a group of SWAT were taking him to Arkham and then…"

"He escaped, didn't he," Bruce knew he should have done it. He should have ended things for good on that rooftop. Now, any murder the Joker caused would be his fault.

"No," the word seemed to hang in the air for a moment too long, bounding between the cave walls. "The Joker… he was murdered."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This is the first chapter that is set in the past, about two years before the first chapter. I would also like to make it clear that**

 **I did not create Bat-Burger. It was created by Tom King and David Finch in Batman (vol 3) #16. Thanks for reading**

* * *

Chapter Two

Surprises

July 12, 2018

Bruce had always hated Bat-Burger, and it was more than just the general theme. There was far too much grease used to make the products, the small action figures were cheaply made and they sold Pepsi products, not Coke. The fact that there were options such as "Jokerizing" fries and adding League of Assassins Asparagus to the already poorly named Poison Ivy Salad didn't help either.

Dick on the other hand, seemed to find it endlessly amusing.

"Mr. Freeze's Homemade Milkshakes," he smiled, holding up the grease stained menu to show Bruce. "They've got a flavor called Kite-Man Key Lime. I can't believe somebody actually cares enough about Kite-Man to name a milkshake after him."

"Kite-Man is a mentally unstable kleptomaniac driven to the brinks of insanity by the loss of his son and is now sitting in an Arkham cell," Bruce said, hardly looking up from his "Hammers of Justice" burger. "I would hardly call that reason to name a milkshake after him."

"Yeesh," Dick picked a Jokerized fry from the mangled pile. "Can't you enjoy this a little. I mean, sure, the Joker's a horrible person, but these fries are some of the best things I've ever tasted. I mean, I know he killed Jason and everything, but these things are to die for. Figuratively speaking, anyway."

"We could've at least gone to Planet Krypton or Big Belly Burger," Bruce looked uneasily at the green and purple spice that covered the fry. "They don't have fries named after homicidal maniacs."

"Yeah," Dick smiled, sarcasm coating his voice. "Because Firestorm Fries are so much better."

"Firestorm didn't kill Jason."

"Jason came back. Eventually."

"Fine," Bruce groaned in a mild frustration. "Why did you bring me here in the first place? You said that we needed to talk. You know I don't like surprises."

"Right," Dick wiped his mouth on a napkin awkwardly. "I… I don't really know how to say this, but… I'm done. As Nightwing, I mean. I think… I know that it's been a long time. You… you picked me up seven years ago, you turned me into something… better, after my parents died. And you know that I couldn't be more grateful for that, in a way that I'll never be able to repay. And at first, being Robin, and then Nightwing, it… I don't know, maybe it was just my way of saying thanks. But me and Barb finally have things worked out. We… we found this little apartment in Ivy Town. I found this gig at a gym and she's gonna work at the library. It's not much but, it's… well, it's something at least. We're gonna move there, try to start some semblance of a normal life. Leave the craziness of Gotham behind us. At least for now. You understand, right?"

"Dick," Bruce sighed, leaning forward. "When I first met you, you were sixteen years old. You thought that you had your whole life planned out for you at that circus. And then your parents fell from the trapeze and your life fell with them."

"Uh, yeah. I know. I was there."

"Look," Bruce stalled. Perhaps it was because he just didn't know what to say or how to say it. "I just want you to know that… you've come along way since that night. You've become someone that I can be proud of. Someone that I can be proud to call my son. My family."

"Bruce," Dick grinned, clearly trying to stop himself from beaming with at least a little bit of pride. "You don't have to get all sappy. I know emotions have never been your forte. Your parents died and the first thing that came to mind was jump around rooftops dressed like a bat."

"I know," Bruce nodded. "I just want you to know that you have my support. No matter what."

"Thanks. You… you have no idea how much that means to me."

The conversation stuck inside his head for the rest of the day, and it stayed there even after the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the city's denizens to fend for themselves in the coldness of a Gotham night. But then again, it was for that reason that Bruce bothered to put the cowl on, to scale the walls and crash down upon any wrong doers. He could never forget that.

"You wanted to talk to me," Barbara, dressed in her sleek, jet black Batgirl costume shot up from the edge of the building, landing silently and gracefully. "Is… is it about me and Dick. I know I should have been there, too. But I needed to tell my dad then, because he was just too busy and…"

"It's not about that."

"Alright," she shrugged, taking a few steps closer. "You've got me. What's this about then?"

"The Sprang case. Do you remember it?"

"Yeah. I… I thought we closed that years ago. Her husband did it under the influence of Poison Ivy. Open and shut. What does that have to do with right now?"

"Last night I found a vile with trace elements similar to that of the Ivy toxin in the possession of Penguin's men. I managed to track some of their associates here. And given your prior experience with the chemicals, I figured that you could help."

"Okay," she said, forcing a smile of bravery onto her face. "But… I put all of my data into the Oracle system. You should be able to find everything with the Batcomputer uplink in your cowl."

"Sometimes it just helps to have an expert in the field."

"I wouldn't exactly call myself an expert, Bruce. You've dealt with it just as much as I have."

"This specific strand is different from Ivy's usual toxins. It has a harsher effect, one that usually leaves its victims dead or at the very least in a state of vegetation. I've only ever seen it used the one time, and Ivy herself said that in the end, it was useless. But, based on what I learned from the sample I found last night, the toxin can be synthesized."

"Right," Batgirl stroked her chin in thought. "I wondered about that. I had speculated that given the toxin's characteristic grouping with the body's enzymes, it could potentially be replicated when a large dose of Bane's venom is mixed with some of Ivy's… stronger stuff. It would be even more volatile than the original, especially if not mixed correctly, but it would still hypothetically work. It would create… the most addictive drug ever created, not that it would do much good, given the fact that one use results in an overdose."

"Then there must be a lab where they're producing the stuff to get it out onto the streets."

"But they would need to constantly refresh their supply of Ivy's toxin, not to mention the venom. And with both Ivy and Bane in Arkham, there's no way to get either one of them."

"Would there hypothetically be a way to synthesize either of those."

"Well, the Venom is already a designer drug. But the components are almost completely exclusive to Santa Prisca, and nearly impossible to get into the States. And Ivy's toxin is made from her blood. There are trace amounts of pretty much every natural chemical in their, but without her bloods enzymes to bond them all in the specific order, then-"

"What?"

She bit her lip in concentration and began pacing back and forth. "Her blood is the only way to get it exactly the same, but if they had access to another sample from someone who underwent a similar transformation as Ivy, they would be able to use that as a substitute. It would be difficult to get the proper mixture, but not impossible. The only thing they would need to do would be find a person with similar physiological properties to Ivy's."

"The Floronic Man," Batman muttered in a slight whisper.

"Exactly," Batgirl nodded. "He died while fighting the Atom a few months back, but his body was preserved by ARGUS at Belle Reve. They would still need his body, or at least a sizable sample of his DNA."

"Damn," Batman grunted. "Waller reported that Harley Quinn was released last week. Her Task Force X missions had piled up. Quinn must have played her to get out with the sample."

"But… how could she beat Waller at her own game like that?"

"Carefully. There must be someone else in on this. But… if Quinn is involved…"

"Then so is the Joker," Batgirl grimaced. "Shit."

"Barbara," his voice was hushed, his pace rising as the thugs below shuffled about, loading an unassuming looking Falcone Shipping truck full of crates. "If you need space from this…"

"No," she shook her head with confidence. "I… I can handle it. It's been two years since… the point is, I'm here. And, if you need Dick and I to hold off moving out."

"I couldn't do that to you," his muscles braced as he prepared to leap. The truck's engine hummed to life as the grunts shouted at each other to keep moving. "Not after everything you've been through."

"So that's not why you had me come?"

"Honestly," he rested his hand on his grapnel gun. "I don't know."

"Wow," Batgirl chuckled. "The great Batman doesn't know. That's a first, I'll bet."

"I just want you to know that I support what you two are doing," he aimed his grapnel gun as the truck began to slowly pull into the dimly lit street.

"Thanks," she smiled. "Um… the Floronic Man's DNA gives off a slight radioactive signature due to the isotopes that took part in his accident. If I rework some of the Wayne Satellites to track it, I should have a backup. But… I'd better get going because it could take hours, maybe even days before it actually works."

"Then go," Batman nodded, pulling the trigger on his grapnel gun. "I've got this."

Silently, Batgirl nodded in agreement and ran off into the dark. Batman lept from the edge, relying on the grapnel hook to hold his weight as he effortlessly descended down upon the city. He followed the truck for what seemed like miles, staying in the shadows through use of the grapnel gun and his wing like cape. He clung to walls and peered around corners, never losing sight while also never being seen.

 _Good,_ he thought. _They'll never see me coming._

After about half an hour of the same dance like movements across the Gotham rooftops, the truck veered quickly down a small side street in the Narrows. The light always seemed darker there, with a more intense feeling of foreboding clinging to the air than the rest of the city had to it. Perhaps it was the fact that crime was more rampant here than anywhere else. Perhaps it was just how abandoned and forgotten the little ramshackled brownstones had grown in the past years. Or maybe it was the fact that just a few blocks from where he stood was the Monarch Theater, and just behind it Crime Alley. The place his parents had died, their blood soaking into the grime covered streets as they desperately clutched at the bullet holes in their flesh, one last fleeting glimpse of terror swelling up in their eyes until finally they drew their last breaths, pulled away into whatever lay on the other side of eternity. The place where, Bruce, at just eight years old, watched in horror as the two people in the world that he loved the most died, knowing only fear and anguish in their final moments. The place where the Batman had been born, rising from the ashes of a fallen family.

Batman shook the thoughts from his mind. _Focus,_ he chidded himself. The men, all large and brutish, stepped from the truck. Their muscles bulged and their faces grew strained as they tugged each crate from the back, carefully setting them down near a small door to their sides. They were unarmed, which was foolish enough, not to mention the fact that they were also ignoring one of the biggest rules for any Gotham criminal. Always look up.

But before Batman could leap down and take full advantage of their ignorance, he heard clapping, and the echoing sound of shoes on hard gravel. "Very good," an all too familiar voice said. "I'd say I was almost proud of you mindless brutes. But please, let me give a real test to you bafoonish dolts. Prove your worth to the Riddler's operation. I give you an offer. If I were to say that you had to face death and go into a room with dangers of untold terror. One is a room full of kerosene puddles and a match, hanging just above these puddles, waiting to fall. Another is a firing squad of a thousand men, eager to spray you with bullets. And the final contains a hundred hungry lions, who haven't eaten in nearly three years. Which of the rooms is the safest?"

The thugs all looked nervously at each other before one gulped out a shaky, "You… you won't make us go into the one we choose, we you?"

"Oh, of course not," Riddler spun a gilded cane, which had been molded into the shape of a question mark, out from behind his back and leaned on it. Despite the fact that he was a scrawny, older man with a wrinkle face and thinning hair in a neatly trimmed green suit covered in cartoonish purple question marks, there was something intimidating about him. The cold, calculating look that always circulated through his eyes. His seemingly endless supply of bravado. And of course, his dangerous obsession with proving his mental superiority to everyone. "I'm not an animal," he reason. "I merely want your answer. Did you really think your first meeting with someone named the Riddler would finish without a quick quandary, now did you?"

The thugs shrugged in unison before one, the bulkiest and gruffest looking of the bunch, stepped up, his face cemented with pride. "I'd take the firing squad," he said, his voice heavy and raspy, probably from years of smoking. "It'd be quick."

"Ah," Riddler smiled, clapping his hands together sarcastically. "It is quite incredible how fast you got that wrong. No, you see, the lions would be the safest. If they have not eaten in nearly three years, they would not present a threat. They would have starved to death long before you were thrown in with them."

The thug who answered took a few steps back, his pride replaced by fear.

"Relax," Riddler chuckled, spinning around on his heels, holding his arms and cane aloft in the air. "I won't kill you. Bullets are not really in my element. Such brash weapons, really. When I kill someone, I like there to be a reason. A trick to it. A slight way that they may live, only for them to still die, not only knowing that they face an endless oblivion, but also that they were no match for the Riddler's intelecte. Now go ahead and take the crates in. We have so much work to be done."

One by one, the thugs hefted the crates back into their arms, straining themselves as they stumbled through the door. Batman prepared to drop down and follow them through. But his silence was broken.

"Don't bother, Batman," Riddler said without turning from the door. "I know you're here. I've known the whole time. The greatest criminal mind of all time after all."

"No one says that," Batman dropped down, his cape cloaking him like a living shadow.

Riddler paused, clearly trying to a quick rebuilding of his incredibly fragile ego. "You're here about the drug, aren't you?"

"Just give me what I want to know, and this will all be over quickly."

"I'm not weak anymore, Batman," Riddler seemed to lean against the wall, still never turning around. "Not… not like when we first met. That… that was just… a broken shell of a man. But this… now I'm somebody. I have power, influence. Enough that I won't just hand over the most valuable thing in my possession just because you say so, Dark Knight. That's the scary thing to you, isn't it? You're not strong. You're not smart. You just rely on fear to drive you. To control this little criminal world that Gotham hosts. But we aren't afraid of you anymore."

"Nygma-"

"DON'T," Riddler roared, clenching his gloved fists before calming himself, straightening his tie and patting down the little ginger hair that remained. "Don't call me that, Dark Knight. Edward Nygma was that shell I told you about. I'm the Riddler now. I have knowledge. Knowledge is power. Which reminds me. I… I have a riddle for you."

"I don't have time for this."

Riddle clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "You so rarely do. But, I think you might want to hear this one. How about this, you get this right, I give you a surprise? Good. You are a bus driver. On your first stop of the day, you pick up nine passengers, all mulling over their phones and what have you. On your second stop, eight get off, one gets on, shuffling his copy of the _Gotham Gazette_ wildly as he looks for the classified section to see if his mistress has gotten back to him in their secret code. On your third stop of the day, you pick up fifteen more passengers, a few business men who look down at their Rolex from time to time, worried about being late to some mundane meeting, and nine or so soccer players from the Netherlands that are visiting the United States for a few days so that they can partake in that big tournament in October. On your fourth and final stop, every passenger gets off, leaving the hot confines of the sardine can so foolishly called a GothamMetro bus. Now, what color are the bus driver's eyes?"

"Their blue," Batman didn't hesitate. "I'm the bus driver, and my eyes are blue."

"Very good, Dark Knight," Riddle chuckled. "I suppose there is something under that cowl after all. And now…" Riddler spun around, pulling a pistol from the fold of his suit jacket. "For your surprise."

Batman's muscles tensed as he prepared to dive out of the way. But it was too late. _BANG!_ The sound emanate just like it did on that cold, damp night so many years before. Just like in Crime Alley.

And suddenly Batman became very aware once more why he didn't like surprises.

* * *

Her bare feet padded across the coffee-stained, threadbare carpeting. "You can't do this, Harles."

"Ya can't stop me," Harley stood stooped over the vanity, looking closely into the mirror as she painted on the last coat of mascara around her eyes. "I'm already wearin' the costume an' everything."

"Harley," Selina rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes. "It's the freakin' middle of the night. Maybe you… maybe you should at least wait until morning to make your decision about all of this."

"It's too late for that, Cat," Harley smiled, her eyes perky despite the late hour and her lack of sleep. "I already got Mista J the sample from Waller. An' if she finds out, I'm as good as dead. So, I might as well take it all the way. 'Sides. I need ta get red outta Arkham."

"I thought this was behind you, Harley. I thought you were leaving the Joker behind. All he has ever done is hurt you. You're… you're strong than this. You don't have to keep running back to him."

"Maybe I don't wanna be stronger," for the first time her red painted lips dipped into a frown. "Maybe… I don't know what I want, Cat. But… I know the shit's about to hit the fan, an' I don't wanna be on the wrong side of it. An'... an' you can come with me. Catwoman and Harley Quinn. I'm sure Mista J would-"

"Who gives a damn about Joker, Harley?"

"I do," Harley sighed, taking a few steps towards the door. "An' if you don't get that, then fine. But don't get in our way. Got it? Don't go runnin' to B-Man. Don't go tryin' to ruin this for me. This… this is what I want."

"He's gonna hurt you again, Harley. That's what he does. Be stronger than him. Show him-"

"Show him what? That I'm my own person or some other bullshit? Look at me, Cat. I've… I've patterned my life afta Mista J. I… I gotta help him. Maybe you don't understand, Selina, but… I need ta help him. An'... if you're not coming with me, then stay the hell outta my way."

She left, slamming the door hard behind her, leaving Selina alone, worry clawing away at her stomach.

"Dammit, Harley," she muttered, placing her head in her hands. "What have you gotten yourself into?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Smiling Broken Husks

May 23rd, 2020

It was well after midnight by the time Batman had managed to navigate his way through the sewer system so that he would end right under the GCPD morgue. Slowly, he lifted up the metal grate that separated the morgue from the ducts that ran under the station. The air was cold and the stiff stench of formaldehyde assaulted his nostrils. He rose without making a sound and looked over at the table where a body, cold and unmoving lay.

The Joker.

His eyes had become glazed over in death, like small orbs of glass embedded in the skull. His features were gaunt, dried blood caked around his pointed, arched nose. His lips, still red from the chemical stains he had undergone years prior, were carved into a smile, just like always, his yellow teeth barred and his muscles frozen in a surprising state of ease. He had died laughing. It was almost haunting to see him lying there like that, after years of fighting. But

there was part of Batman that couldn't help but swell with hope. He was gone. He was finally gone. But there was no time to think about that now. There was still a killer to catch.

"The victim died of asphyxiation," Batman spoke into the microphone embedded within his cowl. It was strange to refer to the Joker as a victim, after doing the same to so many because of him. But there was no time. "A crude bruise along the neck shows signs of struggle, and lacerations down the arms and torso confirm. Bruises also suggest that the victim was strangled with bare hands. Lacerations have specific markings which could possibly denote a certain type of knife. Blood has dried under the victim's fingernails, but it's not enough to have a conclusive match on who it belongs to. Follow up for further investigation at the Batcave."

He went on like this for nearly half an hour, constantly checking over his shoulder to make sure that no one would walk in on him. Luckily, the computer virus he had sent into the GCPD mainframe would keep the police busy, at least long enough for him to gain some real evidence. Unfortunately, there was little to be found. Other than the markings left by the knife, there was nothing conclusive, and even that was hardly reliable.

"Can you believe it?" a hushed murmur came from outside.

"I know," a man laughed. "He's really dead. Serves the bastard right. My cousin died in the Grand Avenue riot last year."

"Aw. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Eh. The guy was a jerk. Doesn't mean he deserved to die, though."

"Well, Joker got what was comin' to him. And that's what matters."

Batman slid into the air ducts. He couldn't leave. Not yet. The two men walked in, strapping their latex gloves on. One walked over to the body, producing a scalpel, while the other stayed to the side, snatching a recorder from a box. Batman didn't stay. Instead, he crawled through the ducts, crouching, his muscles feeling like they wanted to snap. It hadn't occurred to him that he hadn't slept in at least five days, perhaps more.

As he navigated through the packed labyrinth that was the air duct layout, he slipped past the interrogation room. Usually, he wouldn't have taken note, but above the creaky sound of the old ceiling fan whirring and the putrid aroma of tobacco smoke and coffee mixing, he heard a familiar laugh. He peered out the grate and looked to see Commissioner Montoya standing above the Riddler, who was handcuffed to a rusted metal chair, his face gaunt but his eyes still flickering with pride.

"I know you want me to tell you everything," Riddler shrugged with a smile. "But I've already told you everything I want to. You've got nothing on me. As far as the citizens of Gotham are concerned, I'm a well-meaning, innocent business man."

"Trust me, Nygma," Montoya sneered, her fists clenched in anger. "No one thinks that about you. Not after spending so long in Arkham. Not after killing so many people. Honestly, I don't know how you managed to pull the wall over the board members."

"Look," Riddler leaned forward, his mouth curling into a proud grin. "We both want to get this over with. And, after what the Joker did to you, I can't say I blame-"

"Leave that out of this. This conversation is about your crimes. About what you did."

"Conversation," Riddler chuckled, clearly unfazed by Montoya's anger. "Informal exchange of thoughts, information, etcetera, by spoken words; oral communication between person; talk; colloquy. That's… that's not what this is. You've got what, three different cameras all pointed right at me, recording everything I say. You're using me. Trying to twist my words into your own gain. Because you so desperately want to prove yourself. You want to show Gotham that you're like their hero, Gordon. You want to put someone away, to blame all of this on. To blame this… war on. You say that it's because of us… because of us super criminals and the big bad Batman. But let's face it, Montoya. This… this is all your fault. The people of Gotham have no one to blame but themselves. Their greed, their corruption, that's what brought this city to its knees. Not me, not the Joker, you."

"Maybe you're right," Montoya sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "But you and your alliance helped. Maybe you were just the straw the broke the camel's back, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't want to burn every last bit of whatever your plan was. It's my job to keep this city safe. And if you had anything else-"

"They accomplished what they wanted to," Riddler said. "They left this city in ruins. They destroyed the Batman, whether he knows it or not. So… you can stop all this… empty bravado. You can stop pretending like you're some hero. There's nothing you can do anymore."

Montoya gritted her teeth, turning away for a second. "Dammit," she muttered. "Just tell me what I want to know. Names, dates, places. I can… I…"

"You have nothing to offer me. You don't have a speck of incriminating evidence against me. I've outsmarted you. I'm better than you. Just admit it. It's alright to admit to your inferiority. All of Gotham should be doing that under me."

Batman kept going. He had no choice. He needed to get to the mainframe to gather any files the GCPD had collected about the Joker's murder. Nothing he had made any sense. As far as he knew, the Joker had been dragged away to Arkham, thrown in a police van and locked away. No one should have been able to reach him. And while it was possible that one of the guards had killed him, the signs of struggle indicated otherwise. There had to be something that Batman was missing, but only the GCPD files would help.

"Out of the way," Batman heard her, but he didn't believe it. He looked through the grate, out into the mainframe room. Several skittish IT department members stood around the glowing computer screen, frivolously typing in codes and algorithms, trying to combat the virus that wreaked havoc on the computer systems. But then Barbara strode in, her face stern in confidence, her emerald eyes sparking with long-surviving anger.

"You aren't allowed to be down here," one of the IT members complained, although his voice was hardly convincing.

"Like hell," Barbara pushed her way through, stretching her fingers over the keyboard. "You don't even know what you're doing. Bullock sent me down here to take care of things. Go ahead and get yourself a coffee so that you can stay out of my way."

The IT technicians stared at each other with blank faces before turning away, disgruntled, but also clearly afraid to argue with Bullock's orders. They were young, but they had seen enough to know not to get in his way.

"You can come out now," Barbara said, code reflecting off her glasses as it scrolled down the screen. "I know you did this. This is my Oracle virus after all. Did you think I wouldn't be able to tell, even after the changes Tim made."

Batman pushed out the grate and walked through. The air conditioner whirred, trying desperately to keep the machines all in good condition.

"You're not going to turn me in?" Batman was almost surprised.

"No," Barbara shook her head, turning around as the computer screen reset, now free of the virus. "I'm pissed at you Bruce, don't get me wrong. But…"

"Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Barbara gnawed on her lower lip. "Montoya asked me to come. I was found on a rooftop holding a gun, and they don't exactly like that. But, given my record and everything else that's going on tonight, they figured they would just let it go. I was just waiting for questioning when Bullock told me to come down here. So, now that you know my story…"

"I came to investigate Joker."

"What's to investigate? All that matters is he's dead. The city's a hundred times safer without him. Whoever did it should be a hero, not another criminal for you to follow."

"There's a murderer out there, Barbara. Maybe someone wanted to rid Gotham of him forever, or maybe it was a rival, desperate to take his place in the underworld. There could be someone even more dangerous, just waiting to take his place now that's he's gone."

"Who could be more dangerous, Bruce. It was the damn Joker. After everything he's done, you aren't at least a little happy that's he gone."

"That's not justice."

"Then what is? Nothing would ever be good enough for you, Bruce. He's gone. People are safe. Gotham is safe. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Just pull up the files," Batman said gruffly. "I want to get out of here as fast as possible. Montoya made her policy pretty clear on me."

"Fine," Barbara exhaled sharply, walking over to the computer. Within just a few seconds, digital files were displayed all across the screen. "Here's the official report," she clicked on one. "Put in by Commissioner Montoya less than an hour ago. It… it says that the cause was suicide. But then this one…"

"What one is this?"

"I don't even know where this one came from, but… shit."

"He…"

"No," Barbara shook her head. "He never even made it to the police truck. He… he was killed while still in the building."

* * *

"Good. The worst part is I didn't do it myself."

The stiff, starched Arkham Asylum uniform scratched against Harley's skin, and she tugged at the collar, itching at her sides as she always did, frustration growing inside of her. But above all that, there was a new found wave of peace, unlike any she had felt before. It was cool and reassuring, like shackles being lifted off her wrists and for the first time in years she would go without constantly being pulled down by their rust wrought iron strength.

"Harley," Selina gave a look of worry as she ran her hand through her short, tousled jet black hair, seeming like a cat even in her leather jacket and torn jeans. "It's… okay if you-"

"If I what?" Harley smiled, but quickly thought otherwise. That was the Joker's thing. "If I feel sad? Because I loved him? I don't know what you would call what we had, but it sure as hell wasn't love. He controlled me. Manipulated me like puddy, and I let him. He ruined my life. So no, don't expect me to mourn. I'm happy the bastard's dead."

Selina seemed to swallow a lump in her throat, nodding with an understanding that almost seemed unsure. "Okay," she said with a brief, gentle sigh. "I'm trying to get you out of here. You don't belong here. You're not insane."

"A sane person wouldn't have fallen for what I did," no matter how hard she fought it, a sob began to scratch and claw its way up her throat. "I _do_ belong here. And then, once they… fix me or whatever they think they're going to do, I'll be happy to go to prison. Belle Reve, Stryker's, wherever. I deserve it."

"You were just another puppet of his. Another victim."

"That doesn't mean I didn't kill for him" Harley erupted, tears now streaming down her face. She tried to hide it at first, to wipe them away, but then she didn't care. How could she? "That doesn't mean there isn't blood on my hands. I let him get as far as he did. All this shit that's gone on in Gotham is just as much my fault as it is his. I should've put a bullet in between his eyes the moment he gave me a gun. The moment he told me that he loved me. Because I should have been smart enough to see that he was using me. But I wasn't. I was weak."

"You're not weak, Harley. You're…"

"I'm nothing more than a broken husk. A damn smiling broken husk," Harley sighed, collapsing on to her rock hard cot. "Think about how… how much my mistakes have cost people, Cat. I'm not innocent, no matter how much you want me to be. And I need to pay for that."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Family Reunion

July 13th, 2018

He tossed the bag over his shoulder, the worn strap rubbing against the beaten seams of his leather jacket. The apartment was small and had a musty smell to it, so he wasn't that upset about being evicted. He wouldn't miss the mold that crawled up the walls, looking like the ocean's splashes on a sandbar, nor would he miss the cockroaches which had laid claim to more of the small living space than he had. But it was also the third time that year that he had been forced to go on the move. That only made things more difficult, especially given how hard it was to find a job. After all, not even McDonald's would hire a guy that was supposedly dead.

He fumbled around with the key for a minute as he tried to force it into a lock. It was an old, rusted lump of metal that hardly meshed with the equally beaten knob, and as he struggled with it for the last time, he added it to the list of things he wouldn't miss about the place. The only thing that bothered him about leaving was the inconvenience. That, and the fact that the place had been so close to a Bat-Burger, and he doubted he would be able to find another that close. He would miss having such easy access to Jokerized fries.

He slammed the wooden door shut, the creaky hinges whining for oil, just like always. The uneven floorboards heaved beneath his weight as he strode across the threadbare carpet with dulled colors. The lights flickered and the strange sounds that always seemed to come from the apartment next door continued. He didn't even want to think about what might be going on, and it became another item on his ever growing list of things that he wouldn't miss. He turned to go down the stairs, which felt like they would give out every time he stepped on them. But then he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Jason."

"Shit," Jason muttered, turning around, putting his hand on the duffel bag zipper, just in case he needed to grab a weapon.

"Slow down," Jason's muscles eased when he saw who stood behind him, but he wasn't any more calm.

"Tim," Jason groaned through gritted teeth. "I thought I told Bruce that he could-"

"I know what you told Bruce," it was amazing to Jason just how young Tim looked. Sure, he was still only eighteen, but there was a youthful energy that Jason had lost by the time he was his age. Then again, Jason was dead by that time, too. "But we need you to come in."

"I don't give a damn what Bruce wants," Jason said. "Just because I didn't kill him when I had the chance, doesn't mean I'm-"

"He was shot," a pained look swept through Tim's eyes. "Dick… Dick found him before anything bad happened, but… he should be fine. But there's some bad stuff going down. And we need everyone in on this.

"Well," Jason shrugged. "I'm not apart of your little Bat-Family. You can keep that to yourself. I've got my methods, you guys have yours."

"Jason," Tim sighed. "We need you. We need Red Hood. Alright? Just… let's put aside our differences and…"

"Work together? Sing kumbaya together in the Batcave?"

"Jason. You know-"

"I know I work alone," Jason turned back around and went down the stairs. "I don't need any of you."

* * *

Blood spattered as she brought her red boot crashing down on the thug's face. He stumbled backwards, his lips caked with blood. He spat out a tooth and fumbled into a shaky fighting stance. Clearly he was an amateur.

"Alright, bitch," he grunted, wiping blood from his mouth and tensing his muscles, an air of unearned confidence surrounding him. "Ya took me by surprise. But let's see how you take a real man."

She smiled, more in annoyance than anything, although there was a hint of confidence laced in with it. "Even if 'a real man' were here, he wouldn't be able to take me." He charged forwards, her arms held out in front of her and her hands balled into fists. She rammed into the man's stomach and he let out a guttural mixture of groaning and cursing as he faltered back yet again. "Oh. And don't call me a bitch, unless you want to see me really try to hurt you."

"I'll kill you."

"How do you plan on that exactly?" a swift punch to the throat, followed by a sharp kick to the knee, sent him to the ground, collapsing in a ball of muttered growls of pain. "You going to strangle me with toxic masculinity and stupidity?"

Batwoman stood over him, almost proud of herself. Almost being the keyword there. She couldn't take any of it for granted. True, the army training helped partly, but it had been years since she was kicked out, not to mention the fact that she had just barely finished basic. Her skills were rough, her costume hardly containing enough armor to protect her in any meaningful way. But, that didn't stop a small semblance of pride from swelling in her gut, forcing its way up her body a very nearly spreading her mouth into a smile. The only hindrance was the fact that she didn't smile. She _never_ smiled.

"So," she gritted her teeth and lower her voice as she picked the man up by his collar, which was now spattered with blood. "As much as you might think so, I don't really give a damn about you. Now your boss on the other hand-"

"I won't tell you nothing."

"Then I guess it's time to go to the roof."

"Heh," the thug smiled through broken teeth. "That don't scare me. You think the Bat's never hung me from a roof before?"

"I'm not hanging you from up there," she pulled him closer, glaring into his eyes. "Less people will hear when I shoot you in the chest and leave you to suffocate in a pool of your own blood."

"What? You… you don't-"

"Sorry. You're thinking of the other guy. Me, I'm a little less squeamish about things like that. I'll leave you dead without a second thought, _bitch_. There are a dozen more idiots just like you. So, if you want to keep breathing for another day, tell me where Black Mask is."

"Fine," he said, the first glances of fear crossing through his eyes. "I… I don't know much. I'm… I'm still pretty low on the list. I just head the drug running in Park Row. But, I know that he… he works out of some meat packing warehouse."

"Meat packing?"

"Yeah," the words stumbled out of his mouth. "Every time we get a shipment of narcotics from the boss, they come in this… truck. It's got some meat packing company label on the side."

"What company?"

"It's something… O'Neil Meats, I think. Just please. Don't kill me."

"Don't worry," Batwoman raised a fist, preparing to punch him into unconsciousness. "I'll just leave you to Black Mask. I'm sure it'll be fun for you to explain how a 'real man' like yourself got thrashed by me and pissed your pants when I interrogated you."

With one clean hit, the thug was out, his eyes rolling into the back of his head before his eyelids finally slammed shut. Batwoman threw him to the ground, stretching out her muscles and rubbing tiredness from her eyes. She hadn't realized how long her night had been. The sun was already beginning to rise above the horizon, flashes of morning reds and pinks streaking through the sky. But at least she knew where Black Mask was now. That was a start.

She fished her grapnel hook out of her utility belt and aimed for the top of the nearby building. But before she could fire, she froze. Footsteps. They were light, but definitely there. Slowly, she lowered her arm, reaching for the gun that she kept in her back pocket. She yanked it out, cocking it in one, swift move. And then, in flurry of blinding movement, she spun around on her heels, holding the pistol in front, right at the person.

"Whoa," her hands shot up, her eyes widening in surprise. "Kate. It's just me."

"Dammit," Batwoman lowered the gun and placed it back in its holster. "Stephanie. I thought you would know better than to sneak up on me."

"Yeah," Stephanie shrugged, her dark purple hood rumpling with the movement of her shoulders. Curls of her blonde hair poked out from underneath, wrapping around the mask that covered the lower half of her face. "Well I also figured you wouldn't shoot me."

"Why are you here?" Batwoman reached back again for the grapnel hook.

"You're not going to like this," Stephanie's eyes darted around nervously. "But we need your help."

"And 'we' being whom exactly?"

"Everyone," Stephanie sighed. "Bruce was shot last night."

"So. Bruce gets shot all the time."

"This was different. This… he almost died. And… from what we've gathered, something big is going on. Riddler… Riddler was talking like he's working with somebody. Many somebodies, maybe. But… Tim thinks that Black Mask might be a part of it, too. There's this drug, nearly impossible to manufacture, but highly dangerous. And Riddler has boatloads of the crap. If anyone were able to help him, it be the king drug lord of Gotham."

Batwoman swayed from side to side, biting down on her lip, just like she always did when deep in concentration. "You know how I feel about working with you guys."

"We know," Stephanie nodded. "But… well, you know Batman. He wants to be prepared. He's getting ready for a war. You know he would have left you alone otherwise."

"I want to know that this is going to run smoothly."

"It will."

"And I don't want to deal with Bruce's bullshit about guns."

Stephanie nodded less eagerly, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "I… I can't promise. But…"

"Fine," Batwoman sighed. "I'll help." She pulled a small, silver communicator out of her utility belt and placed it in Stephanie's palm. "Take this. Reach me as soon as you're ready."

"You… you're not going to come with right now?"

"Sorry," Batwoman shot the grapnel gun and darted off. "I've got a date right now."

* * *

"How'd it go?"

"Well," Stephanie tugged her mask off and dropped her cloak to the ground, her golden blonde hair flowing freely now. "She almost shot me. But… I guess she agreed."

"So it's better than we expected," Tim slid the disc into the mainframe. The machine whirred and buzzed, but nothing happened. "Jason on the other hand…"

"Bruce didn't really expect for him to join, did he?" Stephanie draped her hands on Tim's shoulders, pulling her face down closer. "I mean, it wasn't that long ago that Jason tried to kill him."

"He's taking precautions," Tim shrugged as he twisted a screw just a little tighter. "But we don't really need him to join. Signal and Batwing are already on board."

"You can call them by their real names, you know. We're alone."

"Yeah," Tim pulled away from the computer, fidgeting with the screwdriver in his hand. "But then I would have said 'Duke and Luke are already on board', and that sounds more like a Doctor Suess book than a sitrep."

"True," Stephanie smiled and kneeled down beside him. "What about Azrael?"

"Hasn't gotten back yet."

"Cass?"

"She's in Singapore right now, I think," Tim said. "Handling some counterfeit ring or something. She said that she'd come back to Gotham as soon as possible, but it might take a while. Have you talked to Harper yet?"

Stephanie gnawed on her lip, twirling her hair with her fingers. "I… no. I still think that you should talk to her, Tim."

"You have a closer connection to her."

"She also hates my guts right now."

"She'll forgive you. It's what friends do."

"If I can even convince her that we _are_ friends."

Tim sighed, wrapping his arm around her waist. He looked over and gave her a loving smile. "You'll figure things out. I know you will."

"What are you working on?" Stephanie turned away, but Tim could still see her wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. He opened his mouth to continue, but thought better of it and answered the question.

"It's a new program I'm working on. It'll help us track crime in the city, separate it between metahuman activity, organized criminal empires like Cobblepot and Black Mask, and simple street crimes. Then, it'll funnel the information into the Batcomputer and rank it all from most to least dangerous. But I can't work it off this computer right now, so I need to make some modifications to get the AI up and running properly."

"Is that really worth working on right now?"

"Well of course," Tim could hardly believe she would ask that. "This could revolutionize how we fight crime. How we save Gotham. As soon as I get it finished-"

"I get that," Stephanie gave a sly smile, the sadness gone from her face. "But like I said earlier. We're alone."

"Oh," Tim smiled. "Right."

* * *

"Harley," the Joker stood from his chair and spread his arms out wide into a welcoming embrace, flashing his trademark grin. "Finally. We've been waiting for _ever_! And… well, I don't mind. But Croc tends to get a little hungry when he's left waiting for too long. He already ate one of Ozzy's guys."

Harley would have doubted it if it weren't for the fact that Croc smiled across the room, licking some blood from the corners of his lips. He cracked his knuckles, which were wrapped like those of an MMA fighter, and looked hungrily at another one of the thugs.

"Well," Harley ran up to Joker, squeezing him tightly. "I'm here puddin'! Now the party can really get started."

"That's my girl," Joker pushed her away slightly, taking a microphone from the pocket inside his jacket. He switched it one and turned to face the warehouse full of murderous thieves, conniving drug lords and everything in between. "Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Crocodiles and refridgerator people! You have been called here today, because for a decade, our strength has been interrupted by one singular force. One hinderance on all of our glorious criminal empires. The Batman. Gotham used to belong to people like us. To the hard working criminals, just trying to make an honest living. An honest living of murdering and stealing, but at least we're not honest about doing it! But now, we have to always look up, bewaring the Batman. How many times have our perfectly illegal operations been ruined by that pesky little sky rodent? So, I propose something. Let's take our city back. Let's work together to kill the pointy-eared bastard!"

Silence fell over the crowd, broken by only the occasional groan or mutter. Clearly, they were unconvinced. Penguin rolled his eyes, chomping down harder on his cigar, which dangled loosely from his mouth as he straightened out his messy, rumbled black suit. Two-Face flipped a coin, scoffing when he looked at the outcome. Black Mask grunted something to a well-dressed, lanky right hand man. No one was willing to work with an unpredictable, homicidal maniac like the Joker. Harley would never be able to understand that.

"An' why the hell would we throw in with you?" Penguin grunted after a few seconds, his haughty cockney poisoning the air it touched as a puff of unbreathable smoke billowed out of his mouth.

"Well," Joker chuckled slightly to himself. "For one thing… it's really just in your best interest, don't you think. And… well, even if you don't agree, I've had some… precautions put in place. It's a plan I think good ol' Harvey would like, too. You see, half of all your men work for me. I set it up weeks ago. And as for the ones that are a little… more than human, I have other plans in place. So, unless you want something really, really bad to happen to you, then you'll help me. Got it?"

Uneasily, everyone nodded, and for the first time, Harley noted everyone that was there. Obviously there was Riddler and Ivy, who had been a part of it for weeks. But she hadn't expected Penguin and Two-Face to come, given their history with the Joker. And with Killer Croc attempting to go out on his own, she hadn't expected him either. But she liked it. She liked it a lot.

"Good," Joker rubbed his hands together. "Now. Let's get to work."

* * *

"I told you, I'm fine, Alfred," Bruce pushed him away as he got up off the table.

"The vital signs says otherwise, sir," Alfred folded his hands together quietly.

"It was just a bullet."

"It was more than just a bullet, Master Bruce. It was laced with whatever that substance is. That drug, which according to Miss Gordon, is quite lethal, no matter how small the dosage."

"The vaccine for Ivy's normal toxin should work," Bruce pulled his suit out of the case. "I'll still feel some of the effects, but my body is immune to more poisons than the normal person. It should be able to adapt. Right now, there are bigger fish to fry."

"I am doing this out of fear for your health, sir."

"I know," Bruce sighed. "And thank you for that. But there's something big happening. I don't know what, but… I've got this feeling in my gut."

"Well, perhaps that's the extremely toxic drug that is currently running through your system. I'm sure it would affect your gut, among other things."

"I'm fine," Bruce reiterated, although he wasn't sure even he believed himself. He could feel it in him, eating away at his body and his mind. He struggled just to gain the will to put his costume on, and every muscle in his body ached with fiery intensity. But he ignored it. Like he had said, there were bigger fish to fry. "Has the family been called in?"

"For the most part. Master Richard and Master Damian are both upstairs as we speak. Both Mister Fox and Mister Thompson are on their ways now, and, while I have not heard from Master Tim and Miss Brown as to when they will come, they both responded. Miss Kane has agreed to join and… well, Master Jason is… he is still Master Jason."

"We need to get him."

"Sir, it may be pointless to tell you this, but I do not believe it is the best idea to push Master Jason into something that he does not want to be apart of. It has always caused friction with him, and now that he is more volatile…"

"We need him," Batman secured the cowl over his face. "We need all of them."

"Of course, sir," Alfred sighed, setting his face in his hands.

Batman took in a deep breath. Pain flowed through him like a river, coursing through each vein and pounding into every muscle. Slowly, he struggled to latch his gauntlets on, letting the wrappings grip his arm tightly. His cape felt heavy, flowing from his shoulders, and his knees felt like they would buckle under his own weight. A cough built in his throat and scratched its way upwards, forcing blood through his mouth. It was quite possible that he had never been in this much pain, and yet, he knew that he could never give up. That was what they wanted? They wanted him weak, vulnerable. He couldn't let that happen.

"Sir," Alfred broke the silence, his voice still elegant, but also coated with nerves. "If I am not overstepping any bounds, do you not think that you are… rushing into all of this a bit. You… you very nearly died."

"The readings all said that I'm fine."

"Yes, but you are also one of the only people ever to come into contact with this substance, not to mention the fact that you are the only person to to ever survive it. We do not know all of the facts yet, and considering the pain that you are going through right now, it may be best if you rest for right now."

"I can't rest," Batman groaned. "If I rest, people could die."

"And if you don't, _you_ could die."

"I take that risk every time I go out there. Every time I put this cowl on could be my last. But I do it anyway. I am here to save this city."

"Then when will it be saved, sir? You are not as young as you once were. And yes, you still have many years in prime condition. But, what happens after that? What happens when you no longer have the strength to put the cowl on and go out there?"

"There's the family."

"And the family are here right now. They are supporting you. Rest, Master Bruce. This drug has unknown potency, unknown effects. The latent effects could kill you, stop your heart or overwork your brain. It could be psychotropic or it could be-"

"It shouldn't be much different from the effects of venom and Ivy's toxins. I've survived both of them before."

"That was the old version of this drug that you found, sir. This new concoction… this is far more deadly. Gingold, Crane's fear toxin, Joker gas, Cortexin, Miraclo, KT-28, all mixed with the original compound. We know practically nothing about it at this point. And… I will not sit here and watch you, watch my son, go out there and die."

Before Batman could respond, the alarms blared. His muscles tensed and for a second, he thought that all the pain had evaporated from his body, leaving him in peace. His hands clenched to fists and he spun around, gritting his teeth as he looked towards the entrance. He didn't know what he expected, perhaps Bane smashing through the rock walls, his muscles bulging and face contorted in anger. Or maybe it would be the Joker, driving in shooting his rifles haphazardly and with his signature reckless abandon. But as he looked over to the shadows, he saw none of this. Instead, a figure cloaked in shade, tall and lean, strutted through with a simple grace, each step light as if supporting no weight at all.

"Bruce," her voice wavered, as if pushed to the side by a strong gust of wind. Her face twisted with a certain amount of nerves and worry as she bit her lip and balled her hands into fists.

"Selena."

"We need to talk. It's about Harley. I… I think something really bad is going to happen to her. And all of Gotham for that matter."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A New Dawn

May 23, 2020

The rotted old brownstone sat in the heart of a nearly forgotten neighborhood of Founder's Island, nestled between two much larger buildings, each boasting a towering signs with add for deals that had been forgotten long before. On the first floor, there was a bookstore, its door old with chipped paint and a flickering fluorescent "Open" sign. It smelled musty and old, and looked as if it had not been cleaned in months due to the books that were strewn across the floor, leaving large gaps in the book cases which had all been toppled over when Batman crashed through, tossing the large bodyguard several feet away.

"Such brutish behavior," Bookworm clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in disapproval. It had been years since Batman had seen him last, and the time had in no way been kind to him. His once full head of brown hair was gone, the only remaining wisps of it were whitened tufts along the sides of his head. He was a short, portly man with an ill-fitting brown coat and large, blubber-like jowls. His wire-rimmed glasses rest uneasily on his odd, hook-shaped nose and he walked with a limp, holding his chest as if he were in constant pain.

"You shouldn't have sicced you dog on me then," Batman grunted, stepping over the mess that he had made.

"Just a minor precaution," Bookworm snarled, rubbing his hands together and ushering Batman through. "After so many years of being a part of the criminal element… well, you gain at least a small degree of suspicions. And apparently, those suspicions paid off. What exactly do you want, Batman. Run out of real criminals to pumbel to a pulp? Now you have to turn to an honest business man to satisfy your predilection for brutality?"

"That's not why I'm here."

"Oh, sure," Bookworm chuckled sarcastically. "And I'm just positive that the first edition of _Moby Dick_ that you left crumpled on the floor would agree with you."

"It wasn't a first edition," Batman said, almost as an afterthought. "The first edition was only published in England under the title _The Whale_ before being printed as _Moby Dick_ elsewhere."

"Right," Bookworm was clearly surprised by the knowledge. "Well, it's not as if it matters. The only true concern right now is why you're here. As I said, I am now a rupidable businessman, despite the more sordid details of my past."

"I'm not here for you, Bookworm."

"Don't call me that," Bookworm grimaced. "I left that name behind a long time ago. My name is Alexander Wyvern. I am no super criminal. Not anymore."

"Fine," Batman said through gritted teeth. "I need information."

"Of what sort?"

"The Joker was killed. I need to know who did it. I need someone who keeps their ear close to the ground."

"And what makes you think I fall into that category, Batman? It has been years since I have done any misdeeds. I served my time in Blackgate. I do not need to take part in some grand criminal scheme."

"I didn't say you were a part of it. I just said that you keep your ear close to the ground. You said it yourself. Being suspicious pays off. I know that you've been paying attention. Not to take part, but just in case something happened that would be a threat to you."

"Well, do you really believe that the Joker's passing would be of any threat to me? If anything, all of Gotham is much safer now that the clown has been removed from the gene pool."

"But someone who could kill the Joker would have to be more dangerous than him, right?"

"Perhaps," Wyvern picked up an old paperback copy of _Frankenstein_ and began thumbing through it. "But then again, it just as easily could have been a police officer, finally willing to do the one thing that you never could. Not everything is a power play, Batman. Sometimes they're just survival tactics. After Joker's last 'vacacion' from Arkham, I would hardly blame anyone for making that call. The only good murderous clown is a dead murderous clown."

"So you know nothing."

"Well," Wyvern scoffed. "I would hardly call it 'nothing'. I know quite a lot, really. For example, I know Gotham was first founded in 1639 by a group of Dutch settlers, coming for prosperous land in the New World. And I know that Gotham soon became a massive industrial and trade center, so much so that even the British feared not having its power. So, in 1704, Gotham and the surrounding cities became British land. The city grew and grew, becoming a safe haven for many until the Great Depression hit, sending so many families spiraling down into poverty. It hit Gotham so very hard, those ten or so years. But that was when the true ruling families grew from the ashes. The people had always known, of course, but now they could really assert their power. The Cobblepots, the Falcones and of course, your blood, the Waynes."

"What are you-"

"Oh," Wyvern smiled facetiously. "Don't act so surprised, Wayne. It really wasn't all that hard to figure out. I am sure the only reason Gotham as a whole has yet to deduce the truth is because they are just unwilling to admit that billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has done so much for this grimy cesspool of a city. It would hardly cross their mind, perhaps out of jealousy or spite, perhaps out of sheer, undeniable disbelief. But I am for from egotistical enough to keep that idea away. And truly, it just makes sense. The kind of sense that Shakespeare made when he scripted _Hamlet._ That's all you are, aren't you? Gotham's prince seeking vengeance for the murder of your father? But don't worry. I have nothing to gain from sharing the information. I will do whatever I can to stay away from the more… unscrupulous elements of the city."

"Then what was the point in telling me?" Batman gritted his teeth, talking careful, calculated steps now. He had almost started to put his guard down, if only by a little. But Wyvern was more dangerous than he had expected. He had been stupid. This could all be a trap. "After all, this wasn't why I came. I didn't suspect anything. This could all just be a power play, trying to get at me. Trying to blackmail me. It won't work."

"I never said it would," Wyvern grinned tearsly. "After all, you have so little to loose now. After with Bruce Wayne 'dead', no one would believe me anyway."

"Then what was the point."

"Just a reminder," Wyvern snarled. "I may be… out of the game, so to speak, but that does not make me any less dangerous. So, be careful what you say to me. And next time you decide to drop by, don't mess up my collection again. I know where you live, after all."

"You wouldn't be able to take me out at my home."

"Of course not," Wyvern shrugged. "But I could at least send you the bill for all the damage done."

* * *

She walked through the dank halls of the asylum, being ushered out by stern-faced guards in stiff uniforms and padded armor. The place had always sent shivers down her spine, reminding her of the insanity in the world. But now, there was something different about it. She couldn't quite place a finger on it, but it was as if ghosts now stalked the halls, veiled in outstretched shadows.

"Thanks for showing me out, boys," her lips curved to a smile as she slid her hands to her hips. "But I think I can take it from here."

"Uh… yeah," one of the guards smirked stupidly, scratching the back of his neck. "Same time tomorrow, Miss Kyle?"

"You can count on it," Selena grinned at the guard's brash nature. She loved toying with them. She strolled to her car in the darkness, straining to hear the second guard chid the first for his blathering nature. "Love-struck idiots," Selena slid into her slick, jet black jaguar, the engine roaring to life as soon as she inserted the key. The car cost more than either one of the guards could hope to make in a lifetime, even without the priceless WayneTech additions Selena had added, piece by piece over the past few months.

"I'm just saying," Jack Ryder's cool, velvet slick voice crackled over the car radio. "It can't be that hard for the GCPD to catch the bastard. And I know what you're saying out there, Gotham. 'Jack, hasn't Batman saved this city dozens of times?' And yes, that is technically true. But to call him a hero is as ignorant as calling-"

She shut it off immediately.

She veered away from the parking lot, down the twisting road that led back to the city. "Hello," she answer her phone over a bluetooth headset.

"Selena," his voice was old and withered, weary with time. It had been years since the last time she had heard it, outside of her nightmares of course. But that didn't mean she didn't recognize it instantly.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone."

"But that was so long ago. Don't you think it's time for… a new dawn? A new age?"

"I think it's about time you left me the hell alone, Carmine."

Falcone muttered something under his breath on the other end of the line. "Didn't we leave all this behind us, Cat?"

"Don't call me that."

"Fine," Falcone huffed. Clearly, she was getting on the former Roman of Gotham's nerves. Good. "Selena then."

"Don't call me that either."

"Then what should I call you?"

"Nothing," Selena's mouth curved downward into a grim frown. Her foot pressed down harder on the gas, the engine purring louder, with anger. "You shouldn't call me at all, Carmine. What do you want, anyway? Batman already ran you out of this town years ago."

"Kid," Falcone chuckled mirthlessly. "The Batman had nothing to do with that. Gotham changed. It became a town filled with freaks in clown getups and crocodile skin. It was nothing like the place me father used to run. Batman, he was just the symbol of all that. But after tonight, it seems there's a bit of a power vacuum. The Joker's dead, the others all put away. This is our shot to do somethin'. To take back what's ours. I'm sick of hiding in Bludhaven. Gotham belongs to the Falcones."

"So," the tires squealed against the rain soaked roads as she teased the gas further and further. For a moment, she was worried that she might force it to slide off the streets. She was lucky that the WayneTech upgrades were constantly adjusting the drift for her, always keeping her steady. "What does that have to do with me? You giving me front row seats to watch Batman kick your family's collective sorry ass out of here again?"

"Heh, it's like I said, Cat," she could hear the sneer in his voice, covered only by his musty sense of self-confidence. "The family wants to take Gotham back. And you… you're family."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Cycle of Insanity

July 13th, 2018

 _BANG!_

The glass shattered and blood spewed from the bullet-riddled body of the thug. Red Hood stepped over the mess, holding his twin pistols in front of them, both still smoking from being fired. Under the hood, he smiled, although his muscles were stiff and his body tense. The other thugs shuffled around, desperately clawing for their guns and knives, but the fear in their eyes gave them away. They knew that they were about to die. But the Shark looked fine, his eyes steady, his hands folded gently together over his desk, and his lipless mouth curved into a smile, showing his sharp, filed teeth.

"The Red Hood," he said, an insane chuckle in his voice, peering through the calm facade he portrayed. "I've heard so much about you." His head snapped around to the thugs. "You can put your guns down, boys. I'd like to have a little chat with our friend here."

"I don't 'chat'," Red Hood stepped over to the desk, gently placing his pistols down on it, not far from the reach of his hands. "I'm just here for answers."

"So you're not here to take me down? You're not here to hunt me like some sort of wild animal."

"You're just a common criminal," Red Hood said, tone muttered under his helmet. "Robberies, weapons deals, drug trafficking. Nothing the police can't deal with on their own. I won't get in the way of the system. I'm just here for the scum who take things a little too far."

"Didn't stop you from killing my best men out there."

"Well," Red Hood breathed a light chuckle. "They weren't that good."

"Fine," Great White Shark stood from his seat, pressing the folds out of his impeccable suit on the way up. His skin was inhumanly pale, his eyes bloodshot and beady. He truly looked like a shark. "Then why are you here?"

"We need to talk."

"You could've just called. You didn't need to make such a mess of my office."

"I doubt that. You're a hard man to reach, Mister White. This seemed like the best option. Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about the Joker."

"Joker?" Great White bared his teeth, his mouth spreading out wide. "You know something, don't you."

"It doesn't matter what I know. It only matters what you know."

"Fair enough," Great White nodded. "But… I'm going to need something in return. After all, I am a businessman."

"You're the scum of the Earth," Red Hood leaned forward, choking back his rage.

" _Po_ tato, po _tat_ o," Great White shrugged. "How much of a difference is there really? Now, I'll give you whatever the hell you want, I'm just going to ask for… a small favor in return."

"And… what exactly is that favor?"

" _Heh,_ " Great White tightened his tie and walked out from behind his desk, gnarled yet nimble fingers wrapping around each of the folds. "You… well, I'm sure it's not much of a surprise for you to hear that you're not much like that Batman."

"Yeah. No shit. I might not be as nice to criminals, but I've at least got a little bit of his detective skills."

"Look," Great White grinned maliciously, sitting on the corner of his desk, folding his hands into his lap. "What I'm trying to get at is I could use a little help. These common street bozos used to get the job done, but that was way before the Bat showed up. Now, things are different. I could use a Bat for myself. It would put me far above every other clown in this city. I'd be able to run the whole damn place. As long as you were willing to be… well, let's say an enforcer."

"Wow," Red Hood smiled, even though Great White wouldn't be able to see it. "That's not a half bad idea. But, in case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda in the business of killing criminals like you. So why the hell would I ever-"

"Because you want a lead. You want information. And I have it. But remember, I'm a businessman. And I don't make a deal without a little compensation for myself."

"Do you really think I'm _that_ dumb."

"On the contrary," White's grin widened, as did his beady little eyes. "I think you're quite sharp. Which is why I know you'll take the deal. Think about it. You'll get the information you want on Joker _and_ you'll be in a better position to take out all the other crime bosses with my backing. Face it, kid. You don't really have another choice. You either work with me, or you get nothing."

"Fine," Red Hood's head hung. He knew it was wrong. It betrayed every rule he had for himself. Ever since he had come back, Jason had promised himself that he would never cross that line and allow any sort of compromise with a criminal like the shark that sat in front of him. And yet, Great White was right. There was no other choice. "You've got a deal.

I

"Come on," Kate rummaged through her purse, looking for the key. She pulled it out and slid it into the lock. The door knob complained, the rust grinding against itself, but it eventually released, and Kate pushed the door open. "Renee," she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth as she closed the door behind her and slid her shoes off, placing them on the welcome mat. "I'm here!"

There was no answer. Kate walked through the dingy apartment, resting herself on the moth eaten sofa. She reached for the remote that sat idly on the coffee table in front of her. With the simple press of a button, the TV flicked on, an image expanding. Jack Ryder, the local hot shot reporter, sat behind a desk, his face smug, his hair greased back and his wire-rimmed glasses sat warily on the bridge of his nose. He shuffled papers, acting as if he were carefully reading them, examining every last word on it. If Kate knew anything about Ryder, and she knew a lot, it was that he wasn't paying any attention. Ryder was a fraud at best, a fear monger at worst.

"...and while the GCPD has yet to refer to the recent actions of the Batman, here at the Hot Seat, we believe that-"

"Shit," Kate changed the channel to some mind watering soap opera. _Anything_ was better than Ryder. "If Renne's really gonna leave this garbage on, she better expect me to finish off all her good whiskey."

Kate stood, stretching her arms, making her way to the kitchen. She swung the door open, reached in and pulled out a cold bottle of Jack Daniels. With a hiss, the lid popped open and she pressed it against her lips, the bitter taste and feel slipping down her throat. She turned and looked out the window above the sink. The buildings of Gotham stretched out in front of her like a mountain range. The shiny skyscrapers of uptown and the Financial District sat almost perfectly, untainted by the reddish smog that clung to Gotham's air. The Narrows, Gotham's own personal skid row, sat not far from Renee's apartment, leaving the building just out of the danger in the slightly safer neighborhood of the Bowery. The buildings were cramped around, dirt clinging to the walls, windows shattered.

Footsteps padded from behind Kate. With one last swig of whiskey, she spun around, a smile spreading on her face. "Hey," she said. "Sorry I-"

She paused when she noticed who she was talking too. The woman, who couldn't have been much more than twenty-five, stood there, in nothing more than a whole ridden Gotham Knights t-shirt. Her long, wet, jet black hair curved around the olive colored skin on her face. She bit her curled lip in embarrassment as her bare legs wrapped around each other and she stood on the tips of her toes.

"Uh, hi," she said with an awkward wave.

"Carla," Renee called from the hallway. She entered, wearing only a wet towel as she rang out her hair. "You want any-" and then she looked up, staring right into Kate's eyes. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," Kate grimaced.

"Carla," Renee spoke through gritted teeth as she ushered Carla out. "Would you mind going into the other room? We won't be long. I promise."

"Yeah," Carla said, poking her head back as Renne pushed her out. "Sure. But are we still gonna-"

"Later," Renee huffed, turning back around, slowly, nervously. "Look, Kate. I know-"

"You have to be effing kidding me," Kate seethed anger. She could feel it. She didn't care. "What the hell was that? _Who_ the hell was that?"

"Carla."

"Yeah. I picked that much up. I mean what was she doing here? No, scratch that. I know what she was doing here, but…"

"It meant nothing," Renee's hands shot up in defense.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? Knowing that my girlfriend is going around Gotham picking up whoever she can find? How often do you do this? Huh?"

"Carla lives in the building down the street," Renee explained. "I met her on one of my patrols and offered to help her move in yesterday. Then… well, you saw what happened. I explained it all to her, though. She knows about you. She knows about _us_. And she's okay with it. She just said-"

"I don't care," Kate said. "Okay. I don't care about any of that crap. I care about the fact that you're letting your life spiral out of control."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I've seen your bills, Renee. I know what things have been like for you. But you won't just settle down, you won't just stay-"

" _My_ life is spiralling?" Renee shouted. "You're the one standing in my kitchen drinking whiskey at seven in the morning. You're the one who goes out to the rooftops every night and-"

"This isn't about me, Renee! This is about you! I'm… I'm worried. Ever since-"

"Get out."

"Renee," Kate sighed. "I love you, okay? But this… this isn't the real you. This… it's not like you. Why won't you tell me what the case was? Talking-"

"I said get out. And I meant it. Got it?"

"I… yeah," Kate said, walking away. "Fine. I'll leave. Have fun with Carla or whatever her name is."

Kate slammed the door behind her as she made her way into the grimmy hallway outside. Her hands balled into fists, her knuckles whitened. A tear bulged in the corner of her eye, her lip quivered. _Shake it off, Kate_ , she chidded herself. _Shake it off._

I

Her dad had always said that the Narrows were no place to raise a kid, to start a family. And yet Harper still lived there, alone no less at the ripe young age of seventeen. Her mother was dead, her father in jail, and now she was forced to spend her days fending off the child protective service agents that seemed to circle their old, decrepit apartment building like vultures. They promised a better life for Harper and her brother. But she knew otherwise. CPS didn't care about them, at least none of the agents from Gotham did. They were no more than a threat to the little family Harper had cobbled together, working day and night, week after week, month after month, to keep intact. It was just her and Cullen now, and nothing would take that away, not even living in the Narrows.

She woke up with a beam of sunlight streaming through the window, pouring down over her face. Instinctively, her hand shot up to block it out as she stirred from the threadbare chair that she had slept in. She lazily swiped a lock of her blue and purple hair out of her face as she tugged down on her black tank top. Her legs felt like jelly as she stood and surveyed the little studio apartment. Cullen was sleeping soundly on the bed, the TV was still on as the ever annoying sound of Jack Ryder's voice continued for what seemed like an eternity, and the fridge sat open just slightly, cool air spilling from the sides. If Harper hadn't devised a system to draw power from Gotham's main electrical grid to bolster their own usage, she would have been worried about the cost.

She stumbled over to close the fridge, smacking her lips in a vain attempt to wash away the bitter taste that the night had left in her mouth. She was at ease, if half asleep. Comfortable in her own apartment. At least until she heard the creek of an old wooden floorboard. She spun around, now fully awake as adrenaline pulsed through her body. Her hands balled into fists, her knuckles whitening from being closed so tightly. She gritted her teeth, ready for a fight.

"Who the hell-"

"Whoa," the voice, even if it wasn't one Harper wanted to hear, forced her to ease up, take a breath and step back. Stephanie stood there, her face showing a calm demeanor even if she was still in costume. Her hands were held up like she was surrendering. "Harper, it's just me."

"Damn, girl," Harper sighed, leaning against the fridge. "What the hell was that about? We have a door."

"Shouldn't you be a little more quiet," Steph nodded her head towards Cullen. "Isn't he-"

"Trust me, Steph," Harper tried to smile, tried to show that she was calm. It didn't work. "We're not gonna disturb him. I'm a different story, however, and if you don't want me to kick your ass-"

"It's been a little while since you were in the game. I'm not sure-"

"Steph," for a moment, no matter how brief it was, Harper actually managed to smile, just like the good old days. "I could always kick your ass. Today wouldn't be any different, even if I am a little rusty. Now, would you mind why you're breaking into my place? And make if fast. I haven't even peed yet."

Steph bit her lip as she looked down at the floor, clearly mulling over what to do. She opened her mouth a couple times, but closed it as if she was afraid of what would come out. "Batman-"

"Nope," Harper chuckled with frustration. "No, no, no and one final hell no. I'm not getting mixed up with this again."

"But-"

"I don't care," Harper said, looking over at Cullen. "I've… I've worked so hard to keep this going. And working with Batman… it just screwed it all up. I can't let that happen. Not again.",

"Harper-"

"You know, for a moment I actually thought you came here to apologize. I thought maybe that after a year, you realized what went wrong. Maybe you were actually here to try and fix things between us. But even after all this time, you're still just blindly following him, aren't you."

"That's not true, Harper. It never was."

"You just don't see it," Harper scoffed. "Batman almost got Cullen killed. Almost ruined all of this. I practically used to worship him, but now…"

"Harper," Steph rested a hand on Harper's shoulder, only for it to be batted away.

"I'm not trying to say that what I've got here is good," Harper pleaded. "Far from it. I… I can barely pay the rent, I'm working three different jobs, I dropped out of school and lost any chance I have at a real future… but Batman almost made it a hell of a lot worse. And the fact that you're still running around with him, Steph…"

"I never meant for it to hurt like that, Harper. I never meant it to hurt at all. And… what you said… it's not wrong. He can be dangerous, he can be reckless. But the city needs him and the people need him. One day, hopefully, things'll be different, but for right now… we just have to fight for Gotham that doesn't need vigilantes. For a Gotham that doesn't need the Batman."

"Fine," Harper sighed, stifling back a tear. "I'll help this one time. But don't think this is permanent and don't think that it changes anything. What do you need from me?"

"Just come to the cave tonight," Steph seemed to smile with relief as she forced her hair into her black hood and tugged on her mask. "Oh, and you should wear the suit."

I

She should have worn the suit. She knew it. In her simple black top and skinny jeans, she felt practically naked. Defenseless. But that was the point, wasn't it? Batman had no reason to trust her, no reason to take anything she was about to say as the truth. Coming in as Catwoman, that could have made her seem like an invader. After all, she had done it before. The Batcave's security was practically made for her to break in through. Batman knew that. Catwoman coming would be an attack, but Selena Kyle, that was a cry for help.

Still, sitting in that cave, water dripping from stalactites, several Bat-people standing around her, she felt like she could have at least taken the whip. With a nervous gulp, she looked at each member, their eyes glaring at her, each with varying degrees of distrust. She ran her fingers through her short hair, licked her dry lips and started.

"I know you don't want to trust me," she started. "I don't blame you. But… this isn't about money. Well, not technically at the moment."

"Then what is it about?" Robin asked in his usual smug tone. He stood there with the least amount of trust, decked out in heavy armor that looked far too big for him. Selena had prefered the other Robins.

"Securing assets," Selena tried to make sure it wasn't clear how much the kid bothered her. Or how often the general relationship between cats and birds was flashing through her mind at the moment. "Because if you can't get your heads out of your bat-asses, there's not going to be a Gotham left for me to rob blind. I've been trying to stay as far away from all this messed up costume crap for a while now. I've been helping Harley do the same thing. But… things are turning sideways now. I don't know what she's doing. Not really. But it's something with the Joker. And I'm not going to let that smiling asshole hurt her again. So just put the rest of this behind us, okay. At least for now. Once all this is over you can go back to hating me again for all I care. But, right now…"

"We'll look into it," Batman said.

"You can't be serious," Robin whipped around to face Batman. "Catwoman has a rap sheet that could stretch from one end of the cave to the other. Are you really going to trust her?"

"We don't have a choice," Nightwing put a hand on Robin's shoulder. "If there's any chance that what Catwoman is saying is true, then we have to act on it."

"Thanks," Selena said. "It's like I said, I don't know what's going on with her, but Joker, Ivy…"

"We'll handle it," Batman said. "Now, let's go."

Like a swarm of their namesake, the present Bat-family moved towards the Batmobile at the other end of the cave. Selena took a moment to take it all in, to examine every piece of history that was put on display. The costumes lined against the wall, the giant dinosaur, the massive penny. All of it brought her back to about ten years before, the first time she had seen him.

They were on the street, he was wearing some cheesy looking disguise, a roughed up old leather jacket, a moth eaten beanie, and of course that scar makeup that wouldn't have fooled anyone. At least not anyone who was paying attention like Selena had been. He had gotten himself into some fight against close to a dozen thugs, a fight no one should have been able to get out of. And yet, as Selena watched from above in the safety of her crummy little apartment, the man that would eventually take up the mantle of the bat not only survived the scuffle, he won. But Selena didn't consider that the time she first saw him. That was just a little facade, Bruce Wayne playing dress up. No, it was about a month later, she had just donned her Catwoman suit for the first time, and he descended down upon her, cape in the wind like wings, his mystique making him seem like something more than human. That was the first time she had really witnessed the Batman.

She found herself lost in the thoughts, an uncharacteristic feeling of nostalgia creeping up on her. It sidetracked her for a moment, but then she noticed that Batman was ushering her forward.

"Wait," she said. "Where are we going, exactly?"

Nightwing flashed a smile back, never breaking stride. "To get the band back together. Now c'mon. Let's go."

I

She knew the history of the whole place, practically down to the very bricks. She had been fascinated by the place since she was young, growing up in her family's cruddy little apartment in the heart of Brooklyn. She had no reason to trust people, or to even _like_ people for that matter. Her father was an abusive jerk, her mother an absent drunk, and her brother nothing more than a humorless clown who constantly made fun of her. But maybe that was the key. The way their minds worked, the way they twisted around each other, fueled by anger and loathing. Yes, the only thing that fascinated the young Harleen Quinzel more than Arkham Asylum, was the human mind.

It was her life, although as she stood outside the closely guarded brick wall that cordoned off the old asylum, it felt like it was a thousand years ago. College, then the internship. Her enthusiasm for it all, the legitimate yearning to help people, the thought were foreign to her now. And the memory of her first day working at Arkham, the feeling of excitement that seemed to do backflips in her mind and stomach, that was the oddest of all. Now she stood in front of it again, just a few yards away from the twelve foot wrought iron, gothic gate that blocked the madhouse from the rest of Gotham, with nothing more than pure hatred coiling in her gut.

She shook off the thought, secured the sack on her shoulder as she straightened out her costume, the red and black checkered armor glinting under the moonlight. She tightened her fingerless gloves, hiked up the low-cut collar of her top, and re-laced her knee high boots. With one last comb swipe through her blonde and red/blue hair, she was ready.

"Harles?" Joker's sweet coo crackled over her earpiece. "Are you in position yet? We've gotta get moving."

"You got it, Mistah J," Harley smiled as her hands crept along the brick wall until… there. The brick slid in slowly, and the wall rumbled, the metal beams behind it moaning in protest until a thin, dank stairwell came into sight. "We are ready to move, puddin'!"

"Good," Joker laughed gleefully, forcing Harley to fight the urge to swoon at the sound. "Now you and the other idiots get moving. Ivy can only do so much for us from the other side. So it's 'bout time we got her outta there."

"Hell yeah," Harley turned to face the three hulking masses of muscle and stupidity behind her. Their faces were all scarred, noses broken and jaws snapped slightly out of place. They wore dark purple suits, perfect for hiding in the shadows, but also for serving as the perfect proof of their alliance with Joker. "Now c'mon, ya morons! We got a very tight schedule tonight. So follow me and stay close. Ya could get lost down here real easy. But don't get any funny ideas. Your hands go somewhere I don't like, an' I'll cut 'em off an' shove 'em so far down your throat they'll be comin' outta yer ass. Got it?"

They nodded.

"Then let's go," Harley waved them forward and she stepped onto the first step.

She was young the first time she went into the secret catacombs below the asylum. It was only her second or third day when Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, a scraggly, rodent-like man, had pulled her down here.

"I feel the need to reiterate that this passage is for emergencies only," his words had bound from wall to wall in a seemingly endless echo. "You mustn't share the location with anyone. My grandfather had it constructed after first opening the asylum, in case there was need for safety from the inmates. I only show this to you now because our inmates, while fully capable of reform and recovery, are more dangerous than any we have had before."

Harley had always had the doctor, and was truly glad when Joker finally killed him, leaving Arkham with the one thing she had never seen on him during her internship. A smile. Just the thought made Harley feel better about the plan. Joker knew what he was doing. He _always_ knew what he was doing.

Harley reached the end of the stairwell, cautiously taking her next steps as the three goons stumbled behind her. It was quiet, deathly so, the very air making her skin crawl. They faced three hallways, stopping them in their tracks.

"Uh… ma'am?" one of the oafs behind her asked, stupidity oozing from his voice. "Which way do we go?"

"Hold on a minute," Harley snapped. "It's been awhile. Now, let's see. Doc Arkham said that to the right were the panic rooms, in case any a the psychos, myself included, broke out an'... well, an' decided to do what we're doin' right now. Forward's the whatchamacallit… the catacombs of ol' Arkham. Which means…" she turned, pointing left. "That-a-way, clowns! Let's move, move, move!"

They moved forward, each stride more confident than the last, although Harley felt one of her hands slip to her thigh, resting on the holster, her gloveless fingers slowly caressing the cool metal. They were safe, she knew it. Only Doctor Arkham and a few others had known about the place, and they were all dead now. When Strange had taken over, the catacombs were forgotten about, practically stricken from the history books. Joker, with his masterful and skillful planning, had made sure it was that way. It made escaping much easier. But still, it was risky, even for Harley.

"The history of Arkham," Doctor Arkham's words rang in Harley's head, painfully reminding her of her old life. Of her old self. "Is that of Gotham. My grandfather founded this institution back in 1921, after his mother had been diagnosed with severe mental trauma. He devoted his life, and fortune, to helping the mentally disturbed. Amadeus Arkham pledged to save this city from itself, a struggle which was then passed down to my father and eventually, to me. His crusade to save Gotham continues to this very day, a never ending battle to help those who cannot help themselves."

Harley scoffed at the thought. How could she have ever been so foolish? How could she have ever believed that it was worth the effort to save people from their insanity. Jeremiah had left an important part out of his little story. Amadeus Arkham had been driven mad by one of the inmates and became a threat to Gotham himself, believing that it was his duty to "cut out the cancer" by killing criminals and in some cases, innocents he deemed dangerous. It was a cycle of insanity, and Harley couldn't believe she ever thought it was worth breaking. No, Joker had shown her the light, the true path that had freed her from the shackles of that so called "reality".

"Embrace your crazy," he had said. "Who gives a damn what they think. What do they know? They want you to think that the world is filled with order, with structure. But they're damn fools! Have you ever seen a tornado that followed any sense of order? Or an earthquake? The world feeds on madness, and when you fight it, you only make things worse. Some people choose to cry when they see the madness, simply because they don't understand what the hell is going on. They've been lied to, you see. Tricked into thinking that the world respects order. But me, I know the truth. And when I face the madness of the world, when I look into it's crazy eyes, I laugh."

Joker had freed her that day. She remembered it so clearly. It was the day stuck up and stiff intern Harleen Quinzel died, and the night Harley Quinn was born. All her life she had been wearing a mask, a facade, but because of the Joker, because of his words and his truth, she shed that false face and found herself. For that alone, she would forever owe him, forever love him. Like a knight in shining armor, he had saved her. And the words of people like Arkham, who spoke of saving Gotham, they meant nothing to her. Now she knew. Gotham, and the rest of the world with it, needed to burn.

They came upon a door, the hinges rusted shut, the lock broken. Harley smiled as she pulled the sack off her shoulder and tugged it open. She signaled the three thugs forward and they complied. They held out their hands with blank expressions on their faces as Harley handed them the explosives. Carefully, they placed them on the door and backed up.

"Awright, boys," Harley couldn't help but grin from ear to ear as they approached a safe distance. "Light 'em up!"


	7. Chapter 7

**So sorry this took me so long to get up, guys. Sadly, some things came up and there're a lot of things that just have to come before fan fiction (echh,** ** _life_** **). Hopefully you'll enjoy (I put a lot of work into this chapter), and leave a comment if you do. Or if you don't. I just want to know what you think. I'm going to try and get stuff up more often, but I can't make promises.**

Chapter Seven

I Hate Gotham City

May 23, 2020

"Wyvern was a dead end," Batman grumbled into the communicator. "I'm going to Arkham to talk to Quinn."

"Perhaps this is stating the obvious, Master Bruce," Alfred said from the other end, "but you are still a wanted criminal. Surely the asylum will be heavily guarded. It won't be easy to get in to talk to Ms. Quinzel."

"Even better," the Batmobile jerked to the side, closely.

"I must ask you, sir," Alfred said, taking in a long, slow, sad breath. "Are you sure that you are taking the best course of action. You mustn't be hasty, Master Bruce."

"I need to make a decision," Batman barked, perhaps a bit harsher than he had meant to. "The last time I let things go for too long…"

"None of it was your fault, Master Bruce."

"Of course it was, Alfred. Of course it was."

Batman switched the comms off before his old friend could off another rebuttal. He told himself it was for the sake of the mission. He told himself it was because it would make things easier. But somewhere, deep beneath the heavy armor, and behind the years of scar tissue, Batman knew the real reason: Alfred was right. But he didn't have time to face that truth yet.

Thunder growled in the sky as the Batmobile continued on its way through the streets of Gotham, which were more like a ghost town than the once bustling city it had been. The few people out were homeless, hovering near fires just to keep warm, shuffling out of the way as the Batmobile screeched through the streets as if it were a monster stalking prey. The Joker had been right; the city was no more than a shrine to his failure now. But at least it was easier to navigate without worrying about being seen.

He veered through the streets, avoiding the alleyways with walls washed in red and blue lights. Soon he was in the countryside, at the very edges of Kane county. To one side sat hill after rolling hill, dotted only occasionally by a farmstead or a house. To the other was the Gotham cityscape, a darkened concrete jungle with mountains like the Wayne Enterprises building jutting from the squalor.

Before long he was in the woods, driving down a precariously narrow road that drank in the shadows of the monstrous trees that lined it. And then, passed all the trees, sat an archaic looking edifice of brick and stone, with menacingly tall towers and a haunting wrought iron gate vigilantly guarding the entrance, flanked by two ghostly statues of angels.

He had arrived.

Arkham Asylum.

"Will ya hurry up," Harley had sat in the uncomfortable chair for over an hour after being yanked from her cell and placed in the cold, dark interrogation room. "I gotta pee! And I swear to God, I will do it all over this floor if you don't get me outta here."

There was no response, and quietly she chidded herself for expecting anything more. Harley leaned back, cold handcuffs digging into her wrists. She sighed, scissoring her legs, squirming in her seat, although that was far from her biggest problem. In fact, she wondered if she deserved it, sitting in that room all alone as the bitter cold ate at her skin, gnawing away at her face. After all, she had done far worse to people. She had tortured them in more horrible ways than most would like to imagine, and she had laughed while it happened. She would like to pass it all of on the Joker; it was always his ideas, his money, his sick perversions. He had been the one to turn innocent Harleen Quinzel into the monster that sat in the Arkham interrogation room in the first place.

Except for the fact that he wasn't.

Except for the fact that there was always something lurking behind the facade of Doctor Quinzel, something that just needed the slightest nudge to be unleashed into the world. A snarling beast that needed to be liberated.

And oh, how liberated it became.

It felt so good at first. Wearing the form fitting costumes, dancing about without a care in the world, facing the darkest things imaginable and smiling the whole time. She felt like she was in control, finally, after years of fighting for the reins. But it was all an illusion. Was she in control of anything? How much of what she had done been the Joker, how much of it had been herself? They had become so intertwined over the years that it had become impossible to distinguish at points. Was any of it what she had wanted? Did she really love that madman? Was she-

Finally, the door opened.

"Thank God," Harley said. "I'll tell you whatever you want, just please let me use the toilet. I'm dying in here. I don't wanna share too much, but there's already some leakage goin' on down there."

Again, she was ignored. Commissioner Montoya took the seat across from her, setting down a stack of files. Her eyes were bleary and sunken, her face pale.

"I know how fast word travels in Arkham," Montoya opened one of the files, never looking up at Harley. "So I'm sure you heard about what happened to the Joker."

"Yeah," Harley said with the smallest hint of sadness in her voice. "Took long enough."

"Most of Gotham shares the same sentiment," Montoya said coldly, looking at a single sheet of paper, soaking all of it in. "Or at least what's left of it."

"But you're not here to tell me something I already know," Harley said. "So let's cut to the chase before I whiz all over this crappy little interrogation room."

"Criminal or not," Montoya sighed, "we need to know who pulled the trigger."

"Criminal?" Harley scoffed. "Try monster. Look, if you need help tracking this guy down to hand out some metal, sure, sign me up. If you wanna throw him in a place like this to rot- well, let's just say you've got another thing comin'."

"Whoever did this is still a murderer, Harleen," Montoya leaned forward. "Joker had no shortage of enemies. No shortage of bloodthirsty killers that tried to off him. Wilson, Lawton, Shiva, all of 'em had their shot at him. All of them failed. That means whoever pulled the trigger and finally did it-"

"I get it," Harley sighed. "They're dangerous. Whatever. It's not my job, Montoya. All I know is that bastard finally kicked the bucket. I don't give a shit 'bout the rest."

"You knew him better than anyone, Harleen," Montoya pleaded. If you help us here, I promise I'll get your sentence reduced. You're not a bad person. You don't deserve this."

"I deserve it," Harley cast her gaze down. "I deserve every damn minute of this hell. 'Cause I am a bad person. You don't know half of what I did with Joker. You don't know-"

"Harley," Montoya said. "After the last couple months, city hall is really on my ass about this. There's been enough chaos, enough pain in this city. Maybe this was a cop tired of everything Joker's done. Or maybe it was a power play by someone new, someone even more dangerous. Point is, it happened under my watch. I was with the Joker when he died. I… I saw it. And no one else did. Which makes me a prime suspect. And regardless of what he did, he was under arrest. He was in police custody. I'd go to jail for life if I was found guilty. I need you to help me find whoever did this."

"So you want me to save the city? You want me to save you? Why should I give a damn. You… it's not like we're friends or somethin'. You wanted me dead just as badly as you did the Joker. And let's face facts. I deserved that. But…"

"This isn't for Gotham. This isn't for me. This is for you, Harley. You want to be better, you want redemption. Well, here's your chance. Here's your chance to prove to yourself that you're not just somebodies puppet. Here's your chance to prove to yourself who Harleen Quinzel really is."

Harley sat there for what felt like a long time. She sat and she thought, her mind teetering endlessly on the options put in front of her. Finally she opened her mouth as if she were an archaeologist opening a long sealed crypt.

"Fine. Fine. But I've got a couple requests. After that I'll do whatever you need me to do. First, I'm not Harleen Quinzel. She died a long time ago. I'm Harley now. Second, I'm gonna need one of my old suits. I… I can't let what I used to be be owned by the Joker. I need to make it mean something new, got it? I need to make my past, present and future my own, not his."

"I think I can make that happen," Monoya nodded. "I'll contact you soon."

"Wait," Harley said. "There's one more thing."

"What is it?"

"Yer… gonna wanna mop in here."

She stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water run all along her body, through her short hair and over her face. After what could have been an eternity, Selena urged her tired hand to turn the faucet, forcing the pipes to heave in relief as the water shuddered off. She sighed, stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. She stepped out of the bathroom, letting her bare feet sink into the threadbare carpet of her crummy little apartment. She walked over to her drawer and unfolded a set of clothes. She let her towel drop to the floor as she lazily tossed them on, allowing the thin fabric to dance along her skin.

"Crazy night, huh?"

Selena nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned around to see a short, lanky figure spread out on her couch, draped over the cushions like a blanket. She dragged her hands through her platinum blonde hair, which hung over his silver eyes, pushing it back over a mostly buzzed skalp.

"Holly," Selena sighed, walking over to the couch, looking down at her old friend. "You scared the crap out of me. How long have you been here."

"Not long," Holly shrugged as she lazily slung herself upwards like a ragdoll. "Five, six minutes."

"Do you have no sense of privacy?"

"Relax," Holly scoffed as she lolled off the couch, standing and stretching like a cat, lifting her arms in the air to crack her back. "I've seen you naked before. And honestly, with that suit you used to wear the rest of Gotham City hasn't missed much."

"Why are you here?" Selena groaned in annoyance.

"Well, let's see," Holly rubbed a deep seeded exhaustion from her eyes and continued. "The city turned to shit tonight, half the place is on fire, and your brooding boyfriend was in the middle of it."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Yeah, that was the important thing to pick up on. Look, Selena, I was worried. I just… you saved me, you know. You saved me from the streets and… and from whatever else I would have gotten into down there. If something had happened to you… I just needed to know."

"Right," Selena let out a long, sad, tired sigh. "Sorry. I'm just… it's been a long night. Week. Month. Let's face it, it's been a long life. And things started to kind of settle into place and then… and then the world went batshit crazy. And… and even now that the Joker's, you know… it's just never going to stop. Falcone's back and-"

"Shit."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. And he wants me to… I don't even know what he wants me to do. But he acts like I owe him something and… and I'm not entirely sure that he's wrong. But Catwoman is… done. I used to think that was just going to be my life, but now…"

"Then what are you going to do?"

"God, I hate Gotham City," Selena groaned. "Take one bastard outta power and the nexts there before the graves been dug. I don't know what to do, Holly. I… I can't help Falcone."

"Then fight him. He's weak. Twenty years ago he was practically God here. But now if you strike-"

"I don't want to fight, though. I don't want to get involved in another gang war or whatever you want to call it. I've been fighting all my life and… and for once I just want… I just want peace, Holly. And maybe I can take out Falcone and end it but… Gotham's like a black hole. It just keeps sucking me in and I thought I was starting to escape from it. I did all this work, I built all this up and… and it still seems like I'm never gonna get out. Like I'm never gonna have this choice again."

"Well, it doesn't look like you've got much time to decide, Selena. It's either fight, give in or run."

Selena sighed. "Well, I'm not giving in. And I'm not running."

"Good," Holly smiled, all signs of tiredness gone from her eyes as if it had never even been there in the first place. "Then let's get going."

Getting past Arkham's electronic security was easy; it had been developed by WayneTech, designed specifically by head of research and development Lucius Fox. Fox was one of, if not the most skilled programmers in the country. It may have been problematic for Batman if Fox wasn't also a close friend and one of the only people to know the secret.

The hard part would be getting past the stringent guard details that were placed throughout the old building. Luckily, none of them were in the air ducts. It was cramped and musty, not to mention stressful on his knees, but he slowly navigated his way through the labyrinthian network of ducts, passing through hall after hall of some of his worst, most vile enemies. The disturbed cackles of the Mad Hatter, the one sided debates of Two-Face, and the frozen sobs of Mister Freeze all wafted through the air as a maddening and mismatched symphony of insanity.

Finally, he found his way to the vent just above Harley Quinn's cell and popped the cover off, with the help of an industrial WayneTech laser. He dropped down into the shadows, expecting to find Quinn in her bed, only to find an empty cell. Then the clanking of handcuffs rang through the air, and footsteps clomped against the stone floor outside the white, sterile cell. With the swipe of a keycard, the clear door swooshed open and two muscle-bound guards shoved ragged-looking Harley through. Her hair was wet, her orange jumpsuit ruffled, and her eye rheumy.

"Now get to bed, Quinn," one of the guards barked as the door swished shut.

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn said with jerky motions as she collapsed on her cot. "I wasn't gonna stay up, anyway."

The guards trudged along, never noticing that Batman was still lurking in the shadows. Quinn, on the other hand, was a different story. Once the guards had left, she lifted her head ever so slightly from her thin pillow, and craned her neck over to the corner where Batman stood. She groaned, flopping her head back down onto the pillow in frustration.

"An' what do you want?" she bristled.

"The Joker was murdered, Quinn."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know."

For a moment, Batman was taken by surprise by the fact that she had already known. This feeling was only magnified by how little she cared. Still, he continued, keeping up his same gruff persona. He stepped from the shadows, confident that he had properly used the Oracle Software from the Batcomputer to send a video loop through the camera feed broadcasting out of the cell and to the security guards.

"I need to find who did it," he said. "And I think you might have some answers."

"Oh, gee," Quinn said with annoyance. "This again. Well ain't that just swell. Look, B-Man, I ain't givin' you shit. I'm already helping Montoya. I'm sure as hell not gettin' involved with you, too. As far as I'm concerned, yer just as guilty as the Joker."

"What are you-"

Quinn flopped from her bed, head dragging lazily behind her. " _You_ were the one that let Joker get away all those years. _You_ were the one that didn't kill him when you had the chance. All those murders are on your head, Bats. Just like what Joker did to me is on yer head, too."

"You're talking nonsense, Quinn."

"Really," Quinn took step after confident step over to Batman, letting the shadows fully engulf her. "You think that, huh? You think that I wasn't just some victim of that silly little game you two played? You coulda saved me anytime you wanted. You coulda saved Gotham anytime you wanted. But let's face it, you pointy-eared fraud. You needed Joker. You loved him. You loved the thrill of havin' some sort of archenemy. It made you feel like a big, strong hero, didn't it, B-Man."

"Quinn-"

"But guess what, I ain't one a yer playthings anymore. Yer never gonna use me again, and neither is anyone else."

"Quinn-"

"But tell me, Batsy," Harley hissed. "Tell me how it feels to be hated? Tell me how it feels that after all these years of playin' hero, after swoopin' in ta get the girl, an' pretendin' ta be some knight in shining armor, ta finally be hated by all of Gotham? To finally be seen as the psycho you really are by all the people you dragged into your stupid game?"

"Quinn-"

"That's right. 'Cause face it, ya big dumb bastard. Yer as bad as the Joker ever was. As bad as Nygma and Dent and Cobblepot and Crane-"

"Quinn, stop-"

"And Croc and Zsasz and… and me. And all the other psychos you looked away in this God-forsaken place over the years. You've hurt the people of Gotham just as much as any of use ever have. In fact, you were worse. You kept it going so that you could keep livin' some sick fantasy of yours. And look what happened because of it. Gotham's burnin', all because your some insecure little rat that never even considered what he was doin'. Never even considered the people he was hurtin'. Never considered people like me, who had their lives ruined. And all because of some sick and perverted game to make him feel like he was better than everyone else. To make him feel like he could rise above everyone else and save a city that didn't want his savin'."

"Quinn, I-"

"Don't," Harley turned around, shoulders broad, head held defiantly. "Don't even bother. I'm done with people like you and Joker, B-Man. I'm done."

And not knowing what else to do, Batman turned back to the vent and left, leaving Harley in a boiling, bitter silence.


End file.
